


Only in My Sleep?

by notoska



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beach Sex, Blood, Car Sex, Clubbing, Colonies, Dancing, Danger, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dream Sex, Earth, Exhaustion, Explicit Language, Flirting, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hair Washing, Lube, Luxury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Massage, Music, New tags with each chapter, Nightmares, Oil, Oral Sex, Protectiveness, Sleep, Sleepiness, Violence, Wet Dream, beach, shower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoska/pseuds/notoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain and Abel have a way of finding each other. No matter where they are. This series follows their swirling, intimate dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Move with Me

Everything is murky and slow. His mind stops turning over technical specifications, lines of code, blueprints… and swirls into deeper, wordless thoughts. Abel feels his breathing settle as he teeters on the edge of sleep. 

He hears a lurching creak from deep inside the ship and is briefly aware of himself, his insignificance. One man, in this huge ship, in the pitch black of space. He’d never allow himself thoughts like this, but his foggy, sleepy brain wanders without boundaries. 

Too tired to argue with himself, he soaks in the loneliness for a moment. His mind turns to the empty mattress next to him. Cain. Where could he be at this hour? 

 

_Stop. Stop. This is a great way to wake yourself up again with worrying._

 

He searches for a thought to comfort him for the last few breaths it will take to reach unconsciousness. The fragment that springs to mind surprises him.

It was when he and Cain were outfitting the Reliant with the new engine configuration. They’d been at it for hours but Cain had stayed uncharacteristically patient. Or maybe Abel just couldn’t hear his grumblings from where he was perched, over the cockpit, while Cain made the mechanical changes in the belly of the machine.

 “Okay, give me a minute…” they had fired up the engine—its deep growl sounding promising—only to hear it sputter and fail a second later. Abel’s screen lit up with a torrent of diagnostic data. He picked through the code at lightning speed. 

_Something wrong with the power conversion… The engine failed when the thrusters booted up… Maybe faulty wires? No, Cain doesn’t make mistakes like that. Hm, maybe the boot command doesn’t align… with the…_

A distant ticking pulled his attention away.

 

_Was that the engine cooling down?_

 

He glanced around the hangar but they were the only ones there. The ticking was rhythmic, almost melodic. His eyes followed the sound to a bench of tools below the Reliant’s wing. His stomach tightened, his gaze locked. 

Cain was leaning on the bench with one elbow, chin resting in his hand. His eyes scanned the empty hangar, looking very far away, and his free hand loosely gripped a wrench between his index finger, middle finger, and thumb. He was effortlessly tapping out the rhythm on the bench’s scratched metal top.

Tap-tap-tip-tip-tap, tip-tap-tip-tip-tap.

Abel was mesmerized. The song—it felt like one, even though it was just tinny taps—was hypnotic enough to capture his attention. It had a lilting pace that Abel had only heard a few times before. 

He wracked his brain. He had heard it echoing through the halls once… _When?_ Ah right, when he found himself in a new part of the ship, several levels below the main floors. It was close to the fighter’s area. He was furtively peering around corners for an elevator to take him back to familiar territory when he heard a group of rough but joyful voices singing. They were getting louder, so, with his heart in his throat, Abel darted into a closet. He held his breath as they passed. They were singing in a language he didn’t understand, but knew to be spoken in the colonies.

Even there, motionless, breathless, in a closet, he thought it sounded beautiful. Unlike anything he had heard on earth.

Or was it? Tripping back through his memories along threads he didn’t even know existed, Abel breathed into a memory from years and years ago. He was small— _how young was he then?_ —walking quickly in his father’s footsteps. They were in a huge, old city for his father to speak at some important event. It was full of all kinds of interesting relics from the past, things he had never seen before. They were in a tube— _what?_ —or, it must have been a subway station. One of the few underground transport systems still in use. Abel— _I guess I was Ethan then, feels like another lifetime_ —was absorbing everything, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

That same melody came drifting in. Tap-tap-tip-tip-tap, tip-tap-tip-tip-tap. Echo-y and distant at first, it sharpened and intensified, like it was rising out from underwater, as they snaked through the crowd, rounded a corner. They brushed passed the musician quickly but Abel remembers it like a film. One he can rewind and play at half-speed. The man was grubby and his clothes were worn. His strange instruments spread in a half circle around him. A black cap up-turned on the dirty floor with a few coins inside. The man flashed Ethan a smile and jingled a bell tied to his foot in time with the music.

But crouching there, on top of the Reliant, none of these memories came to mind. As he stared down at Cain he only knew that the song felt deeply familiar. And that he couldn’t take his eyes off of Cain’s relaxed silhouette. His mind was already starting to spin and his pulse rush. 

 

_What is this feeling?_

 

Abel’s breath caught in his throat when he realized that Cain was humming quietly. That same familiar song, dipping and driving with a melody that seemed to come so naturally, reflexively from him.

Abel loved these glimpses. Cain had built his walls so high and strong that even Abel could only peer over them in rare, stolen moments. It was only a snippet of a song, probably one Cain has known since youth. But the openness, the emotion, however small… it drew Abel in completely. 

He was totally still, forgetting to breathe, straining to hear Cain’s deep hum. His blood pulsed hot under his skin. His stomach danced and his heart lurched. He had no name for this feeling, but it consumed him. He wanted… _what?_ His touch… but more than that. He wanted to be with him, a part of him. _No, it’s more than that._ He wanted that sound, he wanted that song surrounding them, swallowing them up, filling the space between their skin. 

This longing. That’s why this memory sprang to mind. It was a feeling he craved but didn’t know how to find. He wanted to press his forehead to Cain’s and breathe in the words as he sang them. Just the thought of it was so intoxicating that the warm glow in his belly melted into his groin.

Abel’s mind swirled murkily. He dropped off into a restless sleep, one hand gripping his pillow, the other resting in the rumpled, empty sheet next to him.

 

* * *

 

Things clicked into focus slowly. Like Abel’s mind was putting together a puzzle. 

But long before anything else came the pulse. First it lurked, present but in the background. Gradually, it built in intensity, opening up, filling his brain, his body. Abel’s subconscious now fully in charge, it smirked at him and turned up the volume. Abel felt like his whole body was pulsing to the driving beat.

Suddenly, as if his brain was offering an explanation, he found himself walking down a dark hallway. One dim, flickering bulb rocked and swayed from the ceiling. The walls had been painted and graffiti’ed countless times. Someone brushed past him and Abel’s hand hit the wall as he stumbled. It was sticky.

He turned around, on one end was a dented black door with a silver handle, burnished to a sickly shine by thousands of hands. The other end of the hall curved away to the left. Abel could see colored lights flashing and pulsing to the beat that vibrated in his head. He walked toward the light and realized there were a lot more people than he thought in this shadowy hallway.

His eyes followed a flash of light and made awkward eye-contact with a dark haired girl being pushed into the wall by an amorous man. She didn’t seem to mind and groaned quietly when the man nuzzled into her neck.

Abel averted his gaze with a jolt, his cheeks hot. He passed three more couples leaning into the shadows before he made it to the lights.

The music was crisp now. The wonderful sound of it filling his head demanded all of his attention for a breath. Two breaths. 

A DJ up on a stage, a pulsing crowd below. It was so dark, even with the strobing lights above and colored lasers darting around. Abel felt disoriented but electric. So alive. He felt like dancing.

 

_Okay, hold on. Where am I?_

 

Abel’s body ignored him and wandered into the crowd. He couldn’t make out anyone’s face. He felt a part of something bigger than himself, pushing himself in the heat of the crowd, jumping bodies brushing against his own. The beat dropped and the crowd roared, pushing toward the stage. Abel was caught in the wave and lifted forward, his feet dragging and stumbling awkwardly under him as the crowd surged. He heard laughter and saw smiles in the flashing light.

 

_I look ridiculous. But this feels so amazing._

 

He let his eyes sink to the floor and just let the crowd carry him. The beat throbbed and every nerve on his body sparked. He started to push and pulse to the music, his arms loosening, his legs bouncing.

Before he could think himself out it he was dancing, loose and natural and one with everything around him. He didn’t think, just moved, jumped, swayed. It was such a wonderful release, something he never knew he needed.

Songs flew by and Abel danced. He had no concept of time or place. There was just now, just this beat.

Slowly though, he started to notice someone’s eyes on him. He caught a hint of a dark gaze a couple of times but couldn’t quite figure out who it was coming from. His hazy mind told him to forget it, just dance. So he did.

The feeling intensified. It wasn’t unpleasant but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Suddenly, Abel became aware of someone behind him. Everyone was dancing to the same beat, so he couldn’t be sure…

But it felt like this person was dancing with him. Responding to his movements, dancing around him, mirroring his pace and energy. While Abel’s mind was wrapped up in the heat and tension building behind him, the music stuttered and dropped, the beat deafening. The crowd loved it and pushed forward again.

Abel was caught up in the throng. He felt the person behind him crush into him, no doubt caught in the save wave. Briefly unstable, he panted and flailed for his balance.

 

_How long have I been here?_

 

The crowd settled, like water flowing over the floor, and Abel got his feet under him. He started to sway to the beat again and his shoulder blade bumped into a warm chest. He had been rubbing up against others all night but this felt different. The person that had been watching him hadn’t dropped back.

Abel’s heart lurched into his throat as he realized just how close this stranger was. He could feel the heat between their bodies, the tension tingling, thick. This was different, whoever it was behind him was focused on Abel alone. He was flooded with self-consciousness.

 

_What am I doing? This feels dangerous._

 

Abel’s shoulders tensed and he started to turn around. Wanting to look whoever was behind him in the eye, see their intentions.

But he never got that far. The stranger’s hand appeared suddenly, warm and firm, on his hip. Abel jumped, his pulse flying. Before he could react, the stranger gently pulled him in. Abel’s shoulders resting lightly on his chest, the back of his jeans brushing against the stranger’s hips.

A shudder raced up his spine and Abel gasped. He was sure the music drowned out the sound. He felt like he was floating, his heart pounding against his ribs. It never crossed his mind to move away. Was it just the music that made him feel like this?

 

_Shut up. You know why you came here._

 

He dropped his head, looking at the floor to gather his composure. He could see the man’s boots, black and thick-soled, behind his own scuffed sneakers. The man shifted behind him and touched the toe of his boot to Abel’s heel. Such a small touch and Abel felt like he was boiling inside. His jerked his head up, gasping, feeling less composed than before.

Subtly, almost imperceptibly, the man started to pulse to the beat. His hand sank a little deeper into Abel’s hip and pulled him closer. Abel’s body was consumed with waves of emotion; he didn’t trust himself to stand.

 

_He wants to dance?_

 

The man’s chest pushed forward and nudged Abel to move. Abel caved. Like he had any choice. He couldn’t have pulled away even with every ounce of willpower he had left.

He leaned easily into the man’s hips, felt them both moving effortlessly to the music. The stranger responded to his acceptance with a low growl. Abel couldn’t hear it over the music, but he felt the vibration of it through the stranger’s chest, now pressed to his back. It forced the air out of his lungs like a sucker punch.

Abel closed his eyes and soaked in this feeling. He melted into the stranger’s embrace. Their dance felt so natural, neither one missing a beat. Abel’s shoulders relaxed and his arms drifted up. He felt so alive. It was one thing to dance alone, but it couldn't compare to the heady rush of dancing with another, drawn together with a magnetism he didn’t question.

 

_Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop._

 

He lost himself in the music, pulsing and bouncing with this stranger like they shared a body. He could feel the stranger’s rough jeans on the backs of his thighs; they were stretched tight across muscled legs that radiated heat. He felt the man's breath on his neck, hot and quick.

Abel’s head was bobbing, his neck loose. He felt the stranger slide his hand from his hip across his belly and shuddered with pleasure. He arched into the touch, his hips pushing back into the creases at the top of the man’s jeans. Abel’s mouth parted and his eyes fluttered closed.

The man snaked his other hand up Abel’s side, grazing his ribs— _oh my god_ —curving under his arm and wrapping around the front of his shoulder. Abel blinked twice, trying to suppress a moan. Quickly, firmly, the man pulled Abel back, closing the last few inches between them.

He leaned into the man’s chest, his head dropping back onto the stranger’s shoulder. The moan escaped, low and dripping with pleasure. He felt the stranger chuckle behind him.

Abel had lost control a long time ago. Everything else fell away, it was just him and the stranger and the music. And even the music felt different now. The melodies all felt familiar, purposeful, but the sounds were strange and exotic. They were lilting, swirling around them, the throbbing bass rocking the floor under their feet. He picked up on a single percussive line through the din.

Tap-tap-tip-tip-tap, tip-tap-tip-tip-tap.

The man pressed in with his lower hand, and pushed his hips into Abel’s. Abel felt an electric current zip through his body; he couldn’t possibly mistake the bulge that pressed and pulsed against him. Firm and defined, even through their clothes.

 

_Fuck._

 

Abel just responded, not questioning himself. He reached up and grabbed the man’s long, thick hair. The stranger was already craning his head to nuzzle Abel’s ear, his neck, his jaw. Abel pulled him closer, fists closing around shaggy, soft locks.

Panting, Abel caught a whiff of something wonderful. He felt his buzzing senses in overdrive. He rolled his head and buried his face in the stranger’s neck.

 

_Oh my god, its him. His smell._

 

Abel had been so immersed in their dance, his partner, these exhilarating touches, that he had barely noticed how aroused he was. Rock hard, his pants tight against his skin. He was aching for more.

The stranger’s hand started to push downward; Abel twitched and whimpered. His fingers grazed the skin just under the hem of his shirt. He reached Abel’s belt and lifted off. His skin ached for the hand to return. The man ran his thumb down the length of Abel’s cock and Abel was shaking. His knees buckled and he gasped for air. He opened his eyes but his vision was so blurred all he saw was flashes of light.

“Let me take you home,” the stranger whispered in his ear. Abel nearly came at the sound of it. Deep and husky, accented in a way he couldn’t place. 

 

_Fuck. Take me. Now._

 

But his throat just let out a desperate sound. Words were just a concept, not something he could reach in that moment. He was so full, aching.

But he didn’t have to say anything at all. The stranger grasped his hand and started to lead him away. Abel stumbled, disoriented and dizzy. He was swimming in lust as his eyes blinked and searched for the stranger ahead of him. He could only see glimpses of his body as they snaked through the crowd, but he could tell he was strong. His sleeveless black shirt showed off a built frame. His muscled arm sent chills up Abel’s spine.

There was something familiar about this. The way his hand felt, or the way it was being held… The way he was led effortlessly. His shaggy dark hair. His muscled figure. His smell.

They had made it all the way to the dark hallway and were winding towards the door.

Abel suddenly pulled back on the hand leading him. The stranger turned reflexively.

A choked gasp.

 

“Cain!”

 

The fleeting surprise in Cain’s eyes was swallowed up by a dark warmth. He said nothing.

“What… Why…” Abel searched for words, his tumultuous insides making it difficult to think. His heart was pounding out of chest. Before he could put a sentence together, Cain was pushing him into the wall.

Abel gasped when the warmth of Cain’s body collided with his own again.

“What. Like you didn’t come here to find me.” Cain whispered, his voice teasing.

He took a second to drink in the sight of Cain. His tan skin was warm and sweat glinted in the meagre light. His eyes were hungry and dark. Confusion prodded at him but all he could think about was Cain’s touch, the way he had pulsed with him, danced with him.

 

“I… ahh…” and Abel was lost again. His hips arching away from the wall as Cain’s knee slid up the inside of his thighs. His face was flushed and breathing heavy. He had no idea what was going on and never wanted it to end. Distantly, he heard Cain’s chuckle. Felt his smirk against the spot on his neck that was pounding with his wild pulse. Felt Cain pulling him again, his hand firm and sure on Abel’s. Cain kicked open the door and Abel jumped at the shock of winter air.

 

* * *

 

Abel awoke with a shiver and gasp. His eyes flew open as he lurched out of bed, panting.

“Whoa, were you awake?” A voice murmured in the dark.

“Huh… Uh…” Abel panted without answer.

“I know the cold air from the hall comes in… but jesus. You should get a fucking blanket or something.”

“…yeah.” Abel laid back down and tried to catch his breath. When Cain slipped into bed a few minutes later, Abel was already on the verge of sleep again.

Cain pulled him into a warm spoon and Abel moaned before he could stop it. Loud. Needy.

“Haha… Did you miss me?” Cain breathed into his shoulder.

“Mmm… No… I found you.” Abel exhaled, and was asleep before Cain could reply.


	2. Saving grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain is back in the snowy colonies. Searching for someone, finding himself powerless.

It’s snowing hard and it has been for days. They’re in the thick of winter now. But Cain doesn’t mind it. You just get used to it. You get cold like the world outside.

He’s sitting on the passenger side of a beat up truck. His arms folded. A fading second-hand Alliance jacket with the collar pulled up. His head resting against the freezing glass window. He can feel the cold draining through the window, flowing into his hair, drifting across his face. They’ve been driving for hours.

His shoulders are uneven against the seat. One foot rests on the rattling gear shift, quieting it’s vibrations. The other rests sideways on the floor, his knee bouncing when the truck bumps.

His body is slumped and his breathing slow. You can’t move much when it’s this cold. You just try to hold the heat in and rest until the sun rises again.

The driver looks exhausted. He probably hasn’t slept in days, with heavy bags pulling his eyes down. His hair is unkempt and greasy. He looks close to his breaking point. 

Cain considers him through half-closed eyes. 

 

_He’ll never make it out of here._

 

This snow-covered colony was a wasteland. Only a few could pull themselves out of the wretched poverty and corruption, maybe to find grunt-work on earth or, if you were lucky and skilled, join the Alliance. And even if you escaped, there was no erasing the harsh memories, the reflexive snarl, the numbness inside.

They were on a mission for an Alliance task force trying to curb violence in a nearby city. They needed supplies so they sent this broken man out with a truck. Too tired to try anything, they thought. Cain’s brutal reputation landed him a job as security for the trip. If he played his cards right they might let him join the crew to replace the men they’d lost in street skirmishes.

 

_Fucking cog in the machine. Doesn’t know why he does what he does, just wants to stay alive._

 

He hated this man he had barely spoken to. His eyes drifted back to the road, nothing but white and cold. His eyes sank down to his chest and slowly closed. He would just rest for a minute…

His eyes jerked open with a sharp inhale that sounded like a hiss.

“Stop the truck,” he barked. His eyes, sharp and alert, searching. 

 

_What was that?_

 

He felt on edge, like something dangerous was very close. He spotted a car up the road that had slid into the snow, rear wheels off to the side in a ditch.

“I said stop the _fucking_ truck,” he growled harshly, teeth bared. The poor man behind the wheel slammed on the brakes, his eyes wide with fear, locked on Cain’s face.

Cain’s hand was resting at his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing the handle of his switchblade. They pulled to a stop a few meters behind the car, which was already collecting snow.

“Don’t move,” Cain snarled, “I won’t hesitate, old man.” The man’s knuckles were white on the wheel, he nodded stiffly.

Cain stepped out of the truck and slammed the door. The cold hit him like a wall but his chest was burning hot with anger, a ferocity that never died down.

Why he was doing this he had no fucking idea. Cain walked with his hand tucked into his jacket, ready to draw the gun strapped to his side.

Cain strode up to the car, boots crunching in the icy snow. The hood was propped open and he could see a figure hunched over the engine. When he was mere footsteps away, the figure raised his head.

 

Cain froze.

 

He was so beautiful. His light hair falling loosely over his forehead. His dark eyes were wide, questioning. Clearly frightened, but not afraid. His mouth slightly open. The curve of his chin. His slender neck just visible above his white scarf. A flush of surprise spread across his pale cheeks. 

Cain just stared.

His hands were stained black with oil and dust, his white gloves lay over a headlight.

“You’ll freeze your fucking hands off like that.” Cain finally barked.

“Who are you?” The man responded immediately. His voice was calm but sharp. He was wary of Cain.

Cain bristled like he’d been threatened. “Your fucking savior,” he snarled. “I should be asking you. What the fuck are you doing out here?”

“I was on my way to the city—”

Cain cut him off, “Shouldn’t you be under some glass dome? Huh, pretty boy? Thought you could get your hands dirty in the colonies.”

The man closed his mouth and his face darkened. He said nothing.

“And now you’re stuck in a snow drift. You’re lucky I got here before the wolves.”

“I don’t need your help.” the man snapped back, glaring, and returned to the engine.

Cain walked over to the hood and shoved the man with his shoulder, “Move.” He hadn’t noticed at first, but the car was very old. There was rust covering everything and part of the front bumper was torn off. “Where’d you get this piece of shit?” He glanced back at the blond. 

They were much closer now. There were snowflakes resting on the slender man’s dark eyelashes. He was standing a step back, arms folded, brows lowered. The corners of his mouth pointed down like a challenge. Even through his thick coat, Cain could see his slender form. He his limbs were long and thin with a relaxed strength.

This was the closest Cain had ever been to someone from Earth, which he assumed the stranger was because he was practically glowing with goddamn perfection. He felt something knock against his ribs.

“Do you want to die in the snow or not?” Cain snarled, his voice low. The man just glared back at him.

Cain’s anger flared. In a flash he had flipped open his blade and had it at the man’s throat, his other hand grabbing the blond’s upper arm tightly. “I’ll just save the wolves the trouble then,” he spat.

 

A breath. Two breaths. And the man’s expression was unchanged. He didn’t struggle. He just stared up at Cain with narrowed eyes. His mouth was set. He didn’t shake. Didn’t plead. Like he was expecting this?

“I’m a volunteer” the man said finally, calmly, “I’m trying to get these vials to the hospital. They’re running out fast. Too many blood transfusions lately.”

Cain exhaled and lowered his blade. His grip still tight around that slim arm. He searched the man’s eyes. They were so close he could feel the man’s warm breath breezing past his chin. 

“What’s your name?” it left Cain’s mouth as a whisper.

“Ethan,” The man responded, just as softly.

Cain abruptly released, taking a step back. He inhaled deeply and realized he had been holding his breath. Cain blinked.

“Well you probably smashed the shit out of them when you crashed.” Cain spoke quickly to cover up how unsteady he felt.

“Stay here,” he murmured, and trudged back to the truck. He gave the driver a hard glare as he rounded the side and jerked open the door to the back. He wrenched a scratchy blanket from a large stack and unfolded it on the floor of the truck. Quickly, he threw supplies in the center: food, a can of fuel, a box of tools. He gathered the blanket ends with an angry jerk and slung it over his shoulder.

 

_Why the fuck am I doing this?_

 

He slammed the door closed and walked around to the driver side. In one deft movement he dropped the blanket in the snow, yanked open the driver’s door and grabbed the poor man’s hair in his fist. In a flash, his gun was drawn and pressed to the bottom of the man’s jaw, pointing upwards. The driver yelped at the sting of cold metal.

Cain waited a moment, watching the driver’s eyes. “You have 12 hours to get to the city, drop this shit off and get the fuck back here. If you don’t, I will find you and I will fucking kill you.” Cain’s voice was even and ice cold.

The driver nodded vigorously, tears already streaming down his face. Cain shoved him hard and slammed the door. The truck tore away before he had even gathered the blanket from the ground.

He walked back to the car, his eyes down. His chest felt cold and tight but his stomach swelled with warmth.

When he looked up, Ethan was standing in front of him. Eyes somewhat wider, brows knit together. “What are you doing?” His voice betrayed genuine confusion.

“Saving you.” Cain snarled into his face as he walked by. The warmth washed up his insides like hot liquid.

“Do you even know how to fix cars?” Ethan retorted behind him.

Cain scoffed, “Fuck you. Of course I do. All we’ve got here is shit-boxes like this one. Can’t even drive them out of the city without having to fix something.”

He opened the back door and threw the blanket onto the seat.

“What’s that?” Ethan asked, now only a few steps behind.

“Get in the car,” was Cain’s only reply as he bent down to inspect the engine. He felt Ethan standing there, watching him. He imagined the look on his face. Finally, Ethan got in the passenger’s side and slammed the door.

 

_Ha. You would. Giving up control just like that. No fucking resolve._

 

Half an hour passed. Cain took things apart and put them back together. Occasionally he opened the car door to grab another tool from the box. Every time Ethan glared at him, recoiling from the cold wind that whipped inside.

Eventually, Cain slammed the hood. The winter sky was darkening fast. He yanked open the driver’s side door and slid inside. His ears adjusted to the silence of the car and he stared straight ahead. The fading light cast everything in shades of grey.

“Is it fixed?” the blond asked him, eyes neutral, voice steady.

“No. But I can’t see a fucking thing.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” Ethan asked, softer now.

“No.” Cain offered no explanation.

 

The silence drew out until it no longer hung over the car, heavy with expectation. It sunk down and wrapped around each them, both lost in their own thoughts.

Suddenly, Cain heard a chatter. Then another.

He looked over at Ethan, who was resting his head on the window. His chin quivered as his teeth chattered again.

“Are you serious? It’s balmy in here.” Cain sneered at him. Ethan said nothing. They sat like that, Cain watching Ethan. Ethan’s shivers spread to his shoulders and he ducked his chin down into his scarf.

“Fuck.” Cain exhaled quietly, “Get in the back. Don’t open the door.”

Ethan responded immediately, crawling between their seats to get to the back. Cain rolled his eyes as Ethan struggled to make the transition gracefully but his heart was beating a bit quicker. He noticed how clean Ethan smelled as he brushed past him. Ethan coiled around as he slipped his feet through the gap, almost kicking Cain in the ear. Cain swatted at his ankle harshly.

Then Cain followed him, climbing over the seats gruffly. He avoided Ethan’s eyes as he twisted back into the seat. Cain kicked impatiently at the driver’s seat until it slammed forward, giving them more room.

There was a prolonged struggle as Cain pushed Ethan back and forth, tossing the supplies onto the front seats, spreading the blanket across the seat under them. Ethan was left hovering awkwardly above the seat, his back braced against the side of the car.

“Sit here.” Cain grunted. He grabbed either side of Ethan’s hips and pushed him down sideways in the middle of the seat. He paused for only a second, the feel of his hips still tingling on his fingers.

Cain prided himself on hiding his emotions. They can’t hurt you if yon’t let them see your weaknesses. Even when his guard was down, anger rested in the muscles of his face, in the flicker of his eyes. They can’t hurt you if you hurt them first.

Ethan’s head was resting against one window, his boots against the other. Cain lifted both his feet with one hand and slid onto the seat. He straddled Ethan’s hips, his legs sliding down either side of his body. Finally, he pulled Ethan’s legs back down on either side of his own ribs.

His body was buzzing with the closeness as he pulled the sides of the blanket into a tube around them. The top of his thighs were hot where Ethan’s legs rested on them.

Ethan was staring straight at him now. Cain forced himself to look up, feeling like there was something showing on his face that he should hide. Ethan’s face was soft, his chin tucked toward his chest, his eyes dark. Cain exhaled and turned away.

 

There was another moment of stillness. Cain started picking at the laces on Ethan’s boots.

“What are you doing.” It slipped from Ethan’s lips. More of an invitation than a question.

“Toes are the first to go.” Cain’s voice was rougher than he expected. He swallowed the insult on his lips, how colonists could last for hours in this cold, for fear that his voice would betray him.

Cain unlaced the boots one at a time. They were well-built and looked warm. His fingers seemed to get hotter and hotter, rebelling against the creeping cold. He tugged them off and threw them over the front seat.

He clasped his hands around Ethan’s socked left foot. It was cold as ice. His eyes drifted up to meet Ethan’s and he smirked. Ethan’s head was resting back on the window now, his long neck exposed. Cain could see his chest rise and fall, quicker now, under the blanket.

 

_Are you going to be that easy?_

 

Cain tucked the warmed foot into the blanket, slipping it inside his jacket, into the warm crease under his arm. He took the other foot in his hands. Ethan was watching him with hooded eyes.

Cain’s pulse was definitely quicker now. He felt his chest expanding, his legs tingling. He tucked Ethan’s other foot away and leaned forward.

“Give me your hands.” Cain was surprised by how husky his voice sounded and maybe it showed in his eyes, because he saw a smile creep in at the edge of Ethan’s lips. He obediently handed Cain his gloved hands.

Cain took his hands gently and pulled one glove off. Then the other. They were so perfect. Slender and strong. Smooth, but not delicate. He guided them up to his collar and pushed them under his shirt. Abel’s icy skin slid easily over his, into the hot air that clung to his chest. Cain’s collarbone tingled and his chest started to flush.

 

_From the cold._

 

He brought his gaze up to meet Abel’s again. He knew the darkness he saw there was reflected in eyes as well. Cain shifted his hips and Ethan inhaled sharply. Cain felt a soft tremor ripple through Ethan’s body.

“Still cold?” he breathed.

Cain slid one hand out of his shirt and brought it to his face. He pressed Ethan’s fingers to his cheek and Ethan’s eyes fluttered. He started to turn his head, dragging Ethan’s fingers lightly over his lips. His eyes never left Ethan’s face.

He opened his mouth and slid his tongue over the tip of Ethan’s index finger. Ethan groaned quietly and the warmth in Cain’s stomach shot down his legs. His mouth opened a little wider and drew Ethan’s finger in, his tongue sliding up the sensitive underside. Ethan was panting softly now.

Suddenly, Ethan pulled himself up. His feet slipped away from Cain and he rocked over them onto his knees. 

Cain blinked and started. Ethan’s hips were resting heavy on his thighs. One hand still rested in Cain’s mouth, the other creeping out of his shirt, stroking a teasing line up his neck. The blanket was rumpled around them. Ethan’s face was so close.

Ethan deftly grabbed Cain’s jacket collar and pulled him up. Cain gasped and snarled at the surprise. Ethan’s face was hovering above his own. His soft breaths cascading down onto Cain’s parted mouth. Cain’s eyes dropped to Ethan’s flushed cheeks, his perfect nose, his waiting mouth. Ethan had looked so pliable and helpless a minute ago. Now he was making Cain feel weak, pulling him around.

 

_Fuck, get yourself together._

 

Ethan just waited, holding him still with surprising strength. His eyes drifting over Cain’s face, his wild hair, his strong neck. Surprise turned to expectation, melted into longing, and bubbled up as hunger, frustration. Cain pushed onto his elbows to meet Ethan’s mouth but Ethan was too quick. He pulled back with a small smile, his eyes easy. Cain tried again, more forcefully, but Ethan slipped away.

Cain lowered his eyes and bared his teeth. He knew his lust showed on his face.

Ethan shifted forward, grinding his crotch against Cain’s. Cain’s mouth fell open, but his eyes shone fiercely. They were both hard, breathing fast now. The sudden touch pushed Cain’s arousal through his body in waves. He swallowed.

Ethan leaned in and Cain breathed in his smell. “You don’t have to seduce me,” Ethan whispered. The sound of his voice after so much silence made Cain’s heart skip a beat.

“Just fuck me.” Ethan breathed it hot into his ear. Cain’s head was buzzing and he could feel his pulse everywhere. A moan started to form deep in his chest. No one talked to him like this. He was always in control.

He moved to throw Ethan against the seat, press himself against that perfect body. But Ethan was quicker. He forced Cain back with a firm shove, his shoulders connecting with the car door.

Ethan’s hands were everywhere. Dancing over the skin under his shirt, tugging at his jacket sleeves, tracing around the pistol handle against his ribs, unbuttoning Cain’s pants while he pushed himself rhythmically against his cock. Cain shook and gasped.

 

_What the fuck is going on?_

 

Now Ethan’s head was next to his again and he leaned into it, let their damp temples brush. He rested his head on Ethan’s, trying to catch his breath, trying to convince his muscles to tense, to push, to pull. But Ethan whispered, “I want you everywhere. Want your fingers inside me, want your cock in my mouth. Your fingers in my hair, your head between my legs,” and Cain was moaning. His eyes rolled back, his shoulders shaking.

Cain’s head was foggy, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He pulled one of his knees up and in, forcing Ethan forward, dragging his hips over Cain’s. His crotch throbbed as he watched the look on Ethan’s face, watched his head fall back, eyebrows lifting.

With a shaky but determined strength he bucked his hips and flipped them to the side, pushing Ethan into the seat back. His hands trembled as he ripped Ethan’s pants down, hearing his gasp distantly. He wanted to take in the sight of him, lying there, waiting for him, cock hard and lifting off his stomach. But he couldn’t stop himself. 

He sunk his fingertips into Ethan’s pale hips and lifted them up onto his chest. Ethan’s shoulders were pressed to the seat, supporting his weight, his socked feet resting on the car roof. His chest was heaving and he watched Cain with half-closed eyes, glossed with pleasure. The way his cheeks colored and flushed made Cain’s throat tighten.

The car was suddenly still. Cain heard the snow collecting on the roof, saw trickles of water running down the steamy windows, felt his own body heavy with desire. He let his mouth drop open and exhaled. The warm breath reached Ethan’s inner thighs and his hips twitched in Cain’s arms. There were goosebumps forming on his soft skin where it met the freezing air.

 

“All this just to fuck me?” Cain watched Ethan’s mouth release the words in shaky breaths. “Just to feel me in your mouth, make me shake?”

Cain wanted to respond, dismiss it, reclaim control. But it head was spinning and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The words poured into him, more arousing than any touch. He pressed a wet kiss to the crease of Ethan’s inner thigh.

“Keep talking” Cain slurred, voice thick and accent strong in this disheveled state.

Ethan’s legs were shaking, he let out a low moan, “Cain…”

Cain jolted. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.

“How,” he croaked, “How do you know?” His eyes searched Ethan’s face.

 

_That scar._

 

A jagged scar across his lips, parted with pleasure.

Cain blinked. Exhaled. Tried to still his head. He looked back at Ethan.

“Cain?” he said again, questioning this time. His face was soft with sleep, his eyes gentle.

Cain looked down. They were both naked. No coats, no blanket. He looked up. No car. No snow.

 

“Ethan…?” he breathed. The adrenaline was slowly draining, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Abel sat up with a jerk, pulling his hips out of Cain’s arms. His eyes were wide, no doubt feeling the same adrenaline rush. “What did you say?”

A tense pause, both men staring at each other. Finally, Cain smiled, laughed softly. He exhaled and his shoulders relaxed. Suddenly sleepy, he laid his head down on the misshapen pillow that had held Abel’s just moments ago.

“You talk in your sleep,” he mumbled, a smile on his lips.

Cain pulled Abel down, guiding his head into the crook of his neck. Cain wondered if Abel could see the flush across his chest in the dark of their room. Abel’s body felt tense, alert. 

The familiar sounds of the ship filled their silence. The whirr of the climate control, the lurch of metal shifting, the distant sounds of the hallway.

He trailed light fingers down Abel’s spine and was already falling back asleep. He felt Abel’s eyes on him, studying his face, as he drifted off.

 

“Maybe I’m not the one who needed saving.” Cain heard the voice drift by. He couldn’t tell if it came from Abel or his own mind. He missed the snow for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's trickier for me to write from Cain's POV!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. :)


	3. Feels Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The still air seems to radiate heat, displaced by an occasional cool breeze. It feels like a summer’s night. The ground underneath giving back the heat it soaked up hours ago.

They fall asleep talking about Earth. They only talk about it when Cain asks, and he doesn’t ask often. 

Abel knows he has many, many questions but only lets them escape a couple at a time. At first they were disguised as insults, sneers that ended in a question mark. 

“Don’t you let food rot and throw it out in piles? Fat fucks, what a waste of energy.”

“At least we don’t eat a bunch of leaves and call it a meal. Fuckin’ Earth-pansies. What’s that called anyway? салат? Or uh, Sal-ed?”

“How many planets can you see from Earth? Probably can’t see shit with all the city lights. Why the fuck do you leave those on all night?”

Abel mostly shrugged them off. But once, when he insult-asked if people on Earth really had birds as pets, Abel challenged him.

“Why do you ask?”

 

“…I heard it somewhere.”

 

Abel was surprised by his honesty. He felt a twinge of guilt. Cain was genuinely curious about Earth.

“Yeah, some people have birds. They keep them in cages.”

“Fucking waste. What do they feed them?”

“I’m not sure. Seeds and fruit I guess.”

“You’ve got enough fruit to feed it to fucking animals?” Incredulity colored his voice.

And on it went. Every answer brought more questions. Abel never again asked why he wanted to know. He tried to explain things well and tell good stories. He wanted to share every vivid memory with Cain.

Abel never started these conversations; he waited for Cain to ask. Typically, that happened on the rare nights Cain came back before Abel was asleep. Cain would ask just when Abel’s breathing started to slow, whispering it into his soft hair. And Abel would pull himself away from sleep, turn in the bed to face Cain, and watch his face as he answered. They’d lie there for hours, legs tangled, hair tousled on their pillows, talking.

Tonight they had ended up talking about the beach. Cain didn’t know what sand was. He didn’t know what a starfish was. He thought surfing was the stupidest thing he had ever heard of.

Abel’s eyelids were getting heavier and he couldn’t stifle a yawn in the middle of a story about a brutal sunburn. Cain put a firm hand on his neck and pulled him down and into his chest, resting his chin on Abel’s head.

“Shut up.” Cain murmured it affectionately into his hair.

Abel tried to make a mental list of things to tell him about. Sand castles. Waves. Seaweed…

 

* * *

 

It’s dark, not pitch black, but the light doesn’t illuminate anything. There’s a feeling of immense space. Of being exposed, out in the open.

Abel feels that delicious shiver that creeps over his skin when he finds himself in a new place. Goosebumps form on his bare arms, the hair lifting off his skin and telegraphing the subtle breeze.

The still air seems to radiate heat, displaced by an occasional cool breeze. It feels like a summer’s night. The ground underneath giving back the heat it soaked up hours ago.

It’s not quiet either. The ambient sounds around him are gentle, familiar. The slosh of never-still water that stretches for miles. The warm rustle of long, thin grass.

Abel’s mind starts filling in the picture. The sun is just below the horizon. The grey-blue night sky is melting away from the sun’s first warm rays. The ocean stretches out in front of him, calm and dark.

The next breeze carries that familiar salty smell. A gull calls out. Abel hears the gentle fizzle of a wave, fully spent and now retreating from the soaked sand, leaving a film of sea foam.

It starts to feel more and more like a place. Abel feels himself standing there. He blinks and turns his head. He’s not alone.

Cain is standing a foot away, next to him and slightly behind. His hands are tucked into his pant pockets. Jacket sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, strong forearms. His collar hangs open and Abel’s gaze falls over his chest, covered in a thin shirt, his waist, his legs, clothed in well-worn pants Abel has never seen before, his dark boots. 

Abel drinks in the sight of him, the way the dawn’s light looks on his face. He’s never seen Cain in the sun before. Cain gazes out at the water. Time is passing but it doesn’t register. It’s just the two of them. 

Eventually, Cain breaks the silence. “Why does it move?”

Abel considers his face. His eyes are neutral, his brow relaxed. His mouth, which he likes to keep set in a sneer, rests easy. Abel’s stomach swells. The symmetry of his face, the cut of his strong, dark features, the way his hair falls wild over his forehead, by his ears. His insides flutter.

 

_It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time._

 

Cain’s eyes flick over to meet his own.

“Uh,” Abel swallows, “Most are caused by the wind. Some come from the gravity of the moon and sun.” He knows it’s a weak explanation but it seems to be enough for Cain, who turns his gaze back to the ocean.

Cain’s eyebrows are dark black and cut decisive lines over his eyes. Everything about him screams strength, aggression. But here he seems at ease. A lion in the shade.

Abel wraps a hand around Cain’s wrist and tugs gently, “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To the water.” Cain’s arm is warm in his hand.

“What?” Cain looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, brows starting to draw together.

“Let’s swim.”

Cain just stares at him. 

Abel kicks off his shoes, tugs off his socks. The sand is still warm from yesterday’s sun. Pulls his shirt over his head and feels Cain’s eyes on him, sliding over his chest, his shoulders, where his pants rest on his hips. Eyes down, he unbuttons his pants and pulls them off. 

Cain snorts and Abel looks up to meet his eyes. They look amused, a bit confused. Abel takes a step toward Cain and feels the cool breeze swirl up, around his legs, into the warmth of his boxers. Abel feels exposed but wonderful. Free.

Cain lowers his chin as Abel steps into his space. They’re just inches apart. Abel lays a hand on Cain’s chest and feels a thrill at the touch, the warmth.

 

_Is it just seeing him here? Everything feels so electric._

 

Abel slides his hand up and under Cain’s jacket. The lapels are worn and fraying. There’s a canvas patch on his arm where an Alliance mark used to be. He pushes it gently off his shoulder. Cain pulls his hands out of his pockets and lets his jacket fall. Abel runs a finger along the seam of his sleeveless shirt.

Abel traces down Cain’s sides and lifts his shirt up, sliding his hands over that muscled, familiar body. Cain lifts his arms wordlessly, watching Abel, following his cues. Abel presses a soft kiss to his collarbone, breathes in his scent, and feels Cain’s hand come to rest softly on his lower back.

 

_Why does this feel so strange? It’s like we’ve never touched before._

 

The sounds of the ocean wash around them and Abel feels the rising sun’s warmth on his back. _There’s no danger here. Maybe that’s why._ Away from the ship and the mission and the Colterons. It’s so still. Abel blinks against Cain’s neck. He wonders who this man is when he isn’t fighting.

He lifts his head and starts to unbutton Cain’s pants.

“Really? Here?” Cain smiles, his breath warm in his hair.

Abel smiles back, “You’re not going in the water with pants on.”

“Well I’m not taking them off.” His hand pulls Abel’s away.

“You’ll regret that.” Abel murmurs as he turns and starts to walk toward the ocean. He lets the frigid water lap over his toes.  _I wonder if he’ll say anything about the cold._

Abel wades out until he’s knee deep, letting his skin adjust to the shock. He glances back to see Cain kicking off his boots.

A moment later he hears a soft splash as Cain steps into the tide.

“This is fucking cold.”

Abel doesn’t even try to suppress his laugh. It sounds light and natural, a sound he hasn’t heard in a while. Abel sloshes over and grabs Cain’s hand. He drags him deeper and the water quickly immerses Cain’s rolled pant cuffs.

“Fuck this, Abel.” Cain’s voice is sharp but his eyes hold no threat. Abel pulls him closer, guiding Cain’s hand to his hip. They’re waist deep and Abel is still pulling.

Cain’s eyes flash with uncertainty but he says nothing. Abel wonders if he can swim.

 

_Is that trust or bravery? I guess I’m always leading us into the unknown._

 

Abel slows when he is neck deep, the water lapping around Cain’s shoulders. He drapes his arms around Cain’s neck and Cain reflexively pulls him in. He is looking at Abel like he can’t see anything else, eyes possessive and dark. Abel’s body settles in against Cain’s with a sigh. Their heat warms the ocean around them. Cool new waves rush by their backs, a warm eddy forms between their chests, swirls around their legs.

Abel’s chest is so warm and full. It’s so peaceful he can hardly breathe. A completely new feeling, a happiness he’s never imagined. The strangeness of it pulls his body in all different directions. Adrenaline pumping but his muscled are relaxed. Head swimming but his breathing is steady. The waves gently lift them and set them down again on the sandy floor.

 

Abel leans his head back and his breathing hitches. The sun has risen to a golden glow and painted everything in a yellow haze. Cain’s face, now fully lit, gazes down at him.

The adrenaline that had been swimming gently through Abel’s veins sparks and starts to rush. Cain is looking at him with an expression he’s never seen and his features are defined and perfect in this light. A trickle of water clings to the muscles of his neck. His lips wet and parted. A curl of jet black hair hangs wet over his ear, tangling around his earring. There’s that powerful attraction, always surprising, that forces the air from Abel’s lungs.

Cain pulls him a little closer and Abel gasps softly. Cain lowers his head and presses a deep kiss to his lips. Cain’s tongue slides against his own, firm and confident. Abel’s heart forgets to beat. His lungs forget to breathe. 

Lust usually tears through him, urgent and consuming. It shuts down his mind and makes his body shake. But this feels completely different. That familiar warmth springs from his belly, unfurling itself down his arms and legs. It floods him, drowning out all other sensations.

But here, without the uniforms and the expectations and the harsh artificial lights, it just fills him up.

 

_We could stay here forever._

 

Abel runs a wet hand through Cain’s hair, gathering it in his fist. 

Cain’s hand slides down his hip, over the back of his boxers, and pulls on the back of his leg. Abel responds the touch, lifting his leg, pushing his hips against Cain’s. Effortlessly, he floats the other leg up and wraps both tightly around Cain’s waist. Abel’s calves rest on the rough fabric of Cain’s pants. His growing erection presses against Cain’s stomach. 

Cain leans into him, tongue more insistent in his mouth. A wave swells behind them and washes roughly over their faces. The salty cold water trickles through their mouths, warming against hot tongues, trailing over their chins. 

Every new sensation pushes Abel a bit further. He breaks away, panting, his heart pounding. He searches Cain’s face.

“It’s nice here.” Cain’s voice is low and gentle. Abel tries to say something, to tell him how it feels, how he wants to bring him to Earth, what he means to him, but the words stick in his swollen throat.

Cain shifts on his feet and starts to walk toward the shore. His arms wrap snugly under Abel’s hips to keep him in place. Abel rests his murky head on Cain’s salty shoulder and lets himself be carried. He feels heavy as they rise from the ocean, his weight releasing into Cain’s arms.

 

Cain carries him past the damp sand, past the prickly band of washed up sea shells, into the grass that grows on the dunes. He kneels and lays Abel down on a sandy patch.

Abel relaxes into the ground and Cain follows him down. His mouth kissing hungrily over Abel’s neck, the tip of his tongue exploring the folds of his ear before pushing deep inside. Abel moans softly and hears his pulse rushing inside his head. 

Cain is nuzzling his temple, pulling his boxers down. Abel yelps when the elastic pulls at his sensitive, engorged skin. Abel arches his back, sand sticking to his wet body, as Cain kisses a line down his chest, his stomach, his hips.

Cain pushes back on his knees and sprawls on the sand in front of Abel. His face rests just above Abel’s cock, each breath making it twitch and pulse.

The raspy sound of dry grass in the wind swirls around them. Abel lifts his head. The sun reflects off Cain’s slick back, his arms and stomach covered in sand, his soaked pants darkening the sand around them. Drops of seawater drip from his nose as he circles his tongue around the head of Abel’s cock.

Abel’s stomach muscles convulse and he moans with pleasure. Pushing his head back in the sand, trying to breathe, trying to regain control. The sun beats down now, its heat magnifying the heat swirling inside him.

Cain strokes him with his mouth, sucking when he reaches the head, pulling the skin tight with his hand against the base. He slows and trails Abel’s cock over his outstretched tongue, looking up through his wind-tangled hair to watch Abel’s face.

Pleasure washes through Abel and over him. His overwhelmed brain seems to think they’re still in the ocean and he’s lost in the heady lightness of floating, swelling with the water. The waves crest into euphoria and Abel cries out. His legs spasm and clench, thighs pressing against Cain’s ears. 

The orgasm wracks his body, leaving him trembling and breathless. He tries to move, to slow his breathing, to open his eyes into the blinding sun. But quickly stills himself.

 

_There’s no need to rush now._

 

Abel lies still. Just breathing. The arousal ebbs from his body and a powerful contentment replaces it. Cain stirs and pulls Abel’s boxers back into place. The sand shifts under Abel’s back as Cain crawls up next to him. He wraps a warm arm around Abel’s flushed body and settles in, his head resting on Abel’s shoulder, his body pressed to Abel’s side. Abel melts into the closeness.

The sun’s heat envelopes them as their breathing slows, drifting to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Present tense? Needs practice!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Don't Leave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The impact knocked the wind out of him and for a second he heard nothing but the blood rushing in his head, the ringing in his ears, the urgent hollowness of his lungs. He lay still on the floor and the grief flooded him, burning through his stomach. Guilt settled heavy in his throat.
> 
> (Cameos: Praxis, Ethos, Deimos)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO boy. Fasten your seat belts everybody; this is a rough one.
> 
> Heads up for violence and lots of sad feels.

Cain’s head was pounding. The pain was getting worse and worse, growing with no explanation. It was so intense that it paralyzed him, overpowered him. His body fought against it, trying to contain it, shut it out. It filled his head like a deafening alarm. Colored lights flashing behind his eyelids and he couldn’t think.

Cain forced his eyes open with a gasp. He was staring foggily at a dark metal floor. Gentle but constant beeps and whirrs filled the air. He lifted his sore head. A curtain, a bed, machines everywhere. The pain receded, still present but not oppressive.

 

_Is this the hospital wing?_

 

Cain never let anyone else treat his wounds so he had only been there once before. 

 

_What am I doing here?_

 

Cain scanned his body. His flight suit was gone but the clothes he was wearing weren’t his own. Annoyance rising in his chest, he looked over at the bed.

The man laying there could hardly be seen through the machines and tubes covering him. His fair hair and pale skin told Cain he was probably a navigator. Cain rose to his feet—he felt shaky for some reason—and took a step toward the bed.

His heart dropped in a sickening free fall. It slid through his stomach and hit the cold floor. It was Abel. The man under the machines was Abel.

Cain’s open mouth let out a terrible sound. It sounded like disbelief, like horror, like grief. He fell forward to the bed, his hand grasping the metal supports by Abel’s sides, his head falling forward to see Abel’s face.

He was swollen and bruised. There was a gash on his head that seeped dark crimson blood into a thick bandage. Shards of glass had left scratches everywhere and cut deep into his right eyebrow. Though the gash had been cleaned, a trickle of blood had sprung again and wound its way down his face, pooling in his ear, drying on his pillow.

Cain had seen death before. He had lost fellow fighters and navigators. He had lost friends. But it had never been like this. It had never felt like this. Like the world was ripping apart around him, swallowing him up into an inescapable darkness.

Abel’s eyes were closed. Nothing moved. The machine next to him clicked softly as it pushed air into his lungs and pulled it out again.

Cain recoiled violently. He had been holding his breath and suddenly gasped for air. His lungs shook and anger bubbled up.

 

_This can’t be real. What the fuck happened?_

 

Cain shut his eyes in his hands. His thoughts raced but he couldn’t remember. 

A voice suddenly broke through the sickening machine sounds, “You can’t be in here.” It was firm and flat. Cain looked up. It was a medical attendant with a tray of syringes.

“Is he going to wake up?” Cain’s voice burst out, strangled and urgent. The attendant stared at him.

Cain’s anger spiked. He took two quick steps toward the attendant. He meant to yell at him, intimidate him, get an answer, but his emotions were already beyond his control. He grabbed the man’s shirt roughly and pulled him up, tray and syringes clattering to the floor. Cain’s mouth opened but he couldn’t form any words. He gasped at the man with a wordless desperation. 

“I-I don’t know. He’s… alive for now.” The terrified man spoke too quickly.

Cain’s eyes flashed with anger and he forced the words from his throat, “What happened to him?”

The attendant searched Cain's wild eyes, brow drawn in confusion and concern. “You were hit,” a pause hung between them, “You barely made it back.”

“ _WHAT_ ” Cain barked, tightening his grip on the man’s shirt, “ _WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED_ ” He was too loud and other attendants were already running into Abel’s room. They piled onto him and tried to pull him away. Cain roared and flung them off, one hit the floor with a thud.

He tore out of the room and his shoulder connected hard with the door across the hall. A shaking hand pushed off the frame and he was moving again. Adrenaline surged through him but he was unsteady on his feet. He broke into a run but a sharp pain in his right foot made him limp with each step.

“Fuck!” he cursed his injured body. The pain just fed the anger burning in his chest.

 

He slammed his fist into the panel next to the hospital wing doors, which opened with an obedient hiss. But he lost his footing as he stepped through the raised doorway and hit the ground hard.

The impact knocked the wind out of him and for a second he heard nothing but the blood rushing in his head, the ringing in his ears, the urgent hollowness of his lungs. He lay still on the floor and the grief flooded him, burning through his stomach. Guilt settled heavy in his throat.

“Whoa, Cain. Are you okay?” Strong hands were picking him up. A dark fight suit was standing in front of him, steadying him on his feet. A familiar face swam in front of him. He’d fought next to this man but couldn’t remember his name.

“Hey shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” The voice was concerned but it didn’t pity him. “That was a real close call today. I think Praxis is coming to see you soon.”

“What… why?” Cain managed. His hatred for old enemies paled in comparison to what he felt now.

“What do you mean? I think he just wanted to see how you and your navigator were doing. You know you wouldn’t have made it back without him.”

“What?” Cain coughed when he tried to snarl, “What are you talking about?”

“…do you not remember? When you lost your navigator the Tiberius brought your ship back.”

“He’s not DEAD” Cain howled, pushing the fighter away. “ _Where’s Praxis_?” he rasped, voice thick with anger.

Cain staggered away, not waiting for an answer. Pain and hatred pulsed through him, driving him on, too unsteady to hide his limp.

 

He tripped and ran through countless hallways, his breathing ragged with the pain. His bruised ribs ached and spasmed, he felt the cool wetness of fresh blood on his leg, dripping from a pain that throbbed with every stride.

Despite the adrenaline, his body was giving out when he finally arrived at the Commander’s headquarters. Doubtless Praxis would be here, debriefing after a mission. Cain collapsed against a doorway. His vision was swimming but he caught sight of a tall figure disappearing around a corner ahead of him.

“ _Hey_ ” Cain called out, his voice cracking from the exertion. The man turned and Cain could make out a black patch over his eye.

“You bastard,” Cain spat, trying to steel his voice, “What did you do to Abel.”

Praxis approached slowly, “What did _I_ do? Why are you so fucking delusional? You couldn’t make the shot. You’re the one that killed him.”

“HE’S NOT DEAD” Cain screamed, coming unhinged. The anger was destroying him. He had never felt so overwhelmed.

“He’s not?” Praxis’ voice was soft, surprised.

 

There was a pause. Praxis’ cautious footsteps echoed in the hall, Cain’s panting audible above the ship’s hum.

“What the fuck happened,” it slipped from Cain’s mouth, a near-sob. As Praxis approached, he started to remember. The memories welled up and exploded in front of his eyes. Terrifying and loud. 

It was a dangerous mission. They’d gotten stuck in a cluster of Colterons, out of formation. Cain had an enemy ship in his sights but Abel wouldn’t let him take the shot. 

He saw the battlefield in front of him again. Felt his helmet tight on his jaw. 

The Tiberius was on the other side of the Colteron and Abel wouldn’t risk hitting them. Cain heard his own voice screaming— _I can make the shot—_ but Abel was already pulling them up, using the boosters to flip the ship. Hanging upside down in his restraints, Cain was disoriented when Abel yelled for him to shoot. He scrambled, pulled the trigger.

And missed.

Cain’s heart froze.

 

_It was me?_

 

Cain felt the ship shudder around him as they took enemy fire. He remembered the comm line going dead. Screaming for Abel to get them out of there as the ship drifted in a sickly spin. He remembered the loading bay, pulling himself out of his restraints with his arms, sliding his legs out of the wreckage in the cockpit. 

Pulling himself across the wing, his wounds staining the metal red. Ripping Abel’s hatch open.

 

_No._

 

His pale skin covered in blood. Twisted metal all around him. His body slumped sideways, hanging limp in his restraints.

Cain’s heart was clenched tight in his chest and he heard his own screams echo in his head again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with Abel.

Praxis was close now, kneeling down, talking to him with eyes averted. But Cain couldn’t hear anything.

 

_I fucked up? I let them hurt Abel?_

 

Cain’s grief stabbed at him, worse than any injury. He felt sick. His anger hardened into a dark hatred that had no release. He cried out in pain and shoved Praxis away.

His aching body was numb as he threw himself on Praxis, shoving his head to the floor with a crack. Praxis’ eye patch was ripped free as he struggled under Cain’s grasp.

Cain growled in his face with black, violent eyes, “Why didn’t you save him? Why didn’t you take out that ship?” His voice rising, hysterical.

“I could’ve hit you…” Praxis gasped with Cain’s hands at his throat, “We got you back as fast as we could.” His face was strangely sad and calm. He pushed back on Cain but didn’t fight him. The mottled scar where his eye had been made him seem somehow less human.

“YOU FUCKED UP,” Cain’s arms shook with effort. He slammed Praxis head against the floor again with a sharp thud, “His blood is on YOUR hands! I should’ve taken that shot and _blown you to hell,_ ” he hissed. Every movement was vicious because Cain knew nothing else. He saw nothing else.

“But you didn’t. Y-you… missed,” Praxis’ face was darkening from lack of oxygen. He shoved Cain’s chest, catching him by surprise, and throwing him into the wall.

Cain’s chest heaved. He wanted a fight, he wanted the pain. He wanted Praxis to attack but he wouldn’t. He was too fucking calm, like Abel was dead already. Frustration competed with the panic inside.

 

He looked up for his target but his eyes settled on another. There was a blond man Cain had seen before watching with horror. He stood a few paces back, pressed against the wall. _Praxis’ navigator._

Cain’s fury surged anew as he staggered to his feet. He rushed toward Ethos, hand fumbling at his side for a blade that wasn’t there, in this stranger’s jacket. He slammed the terrified navigator to the wall with the force of his entire body. The blood that had soaked through his pants pressed a scarlet stain to Ethos’ leg.

Cain clasped his jaw savagely, “Why didn’t you move… why didn’t you do anything…” He struggled to speak, his need to hurt overwhelming his need for answers.

Ethos’ face was frozen, eyes wide with horror. He couldn’t even struggle in Cain’s grasp. Tears were streaming down Ethos’ face but Cain felt nothing. He stared at him with hollow eyes. Cain dug his nails into Ethos’ pale skin, drawing blood. 

Praxis’ hands reached him just in time, jerking him back by his jacket. Cain resisted, his eyes on Ethos’ face. But two hands became four and he couldn’t resist anymore.

The hands ripped him away and threw him to the floor. A small but strong body sprawled over his own, holding him down with all the strength it had. Cain snarled and shoved his protector. The man released only enough to raise his head, to meet Cain’s gaze. Cain inhaled. 

Deimos’ eyes were red with emotion and his chest was heaving against Cain’s. He’d been running, searching the ship for him. 

 

_Stay down_ , his eyes said, _this won’t change anything_. _Please stay down._  

 

Cain’s anger flared again in his spent body, threatening to burn him up. He shoved Deimos away and demanded his body to rise. But he just lurched. His muscles screamed with pain and his head was spinning. A black fog crept in at the edge of his vision.

Trapped by his own weakness, his own mortality, Cain sat still for a breath. His emotions washed over him again, drowning him. He was shaking and gasping. He couldn’t feel his blood-drenched leg. Nausea heaved in his stomach. He had nothing left.

 

_No. It can’t be real. I couldn’t. I don’t fuck up. I don’t miss._

 

Cain’s chest shook and he punched the steel floor. The pain shot hot through his hand, a dull thud echoed through the cold floor.

 

_Shit._

 

Hot tears welled up in his eyes and he sank down, holding his head in his hands on the floor. He couldn’t fight it any more.

 

_I missed. So fucking weak._

 

The tears ran down his face, splashed wet on the floor. Sobs wracked his body. 

 

“ _FUCK”_ , Cain roared hoarsely, his voice gone. It sounded foreign in his own ears, full of guilt and remorse. Defeated.

 

There were hands on his back again and Cain reacted like the wounded animal he was. He threw himself backward, spitting a harsh cry at Deimos. _Just leave me here._

But the eyes looking back at him were black and wide and frightened. A look of surprise and concern. The sight of Abel’s fair face made his heart lurch. What black memories sprang to mind when the world fell apart.

Cain’s mind was still angry, urgent, insistent as the face started to speak. Cain closed his eyes and shook his head at the vision. Everything seemed to be slipping away, like the world tilted on its axis and it all slid off the edge.

Confusion set in as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Their bed, the darkness of their room, their naked bodies.

 

_But… where was I before this? What happened? Fuck, it’s important!_

 

A moment later and realization began to dawn. 

 

_A dream?_

 

He looked back up at Abel, who was talking, but he couldn’t hear anything. _He looks real._ Cain reached out his hand and touched his shoulder. _He feels real._ Abel stopped mid-word.

Tears were still streaming down Cain’s face. Every muscle in his body was tense. His heart was pounding and his breathing hard. He scanned Abel’s face and knew that he could see his nightmare reflected in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Abel’s voice was whisper quiet.

Cain felt dizzy and sick. The adrenaline rushing through his body made his temper flare, his mind spinning as he tried to remember what made him feel this way. His wet cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It was too much. He was exposed.

“Fuck off,” Cain snapped and rose from the bed, stumbling in the dark as he made his way to the bathroom. A click as the lights flicked on and soft hiss as the door closed behind him.

Cain hit the shower controls with his fist. The water streamed down, immediate and freezing cold. Cain gasped at the cold shock and forced himself to still. Standing naked and shaking with his head pressed to the cool tile. He tried to catch his breath.

 

_Calm the fuck down. It was a dream._

 

Inhale. Exhale. His shoulders shook. Inhale.

 

Exhale.

 

Slowly, the panic drained away. But the guilt remained, heavy in his throat. Cain had had nightmares before but they didn’t get to him like this. They weren’t so personal.

 

_People die. They get hurt. This is a war. You’ve done this before._

 

But his rationalization did little to still his heart. It pounded with a dread so dark it threatened to break him. It was the feeling of losing something irreplaceable.

 

_Fuck, what am I going to say to Abel._

 

Cain shut off the water and stood dripping and shivering. His body was uninjured but he felt like he’d lost a lot of blood. His muscles burned with exhaustion.

His wounded pride swelled as he mulled over how to answer his navigator’s inevitable questions. He’s hasn’t cried in years, and never in front of someone. And over a _fucking dream_.

Cain dried himself off and opened the door. He walked out with shoulders back, mouth set in a sneer. But Abel was looking down. Aware of him but avoiding his eyes. Cain approached the bed with his eyes on Abel, trying to move naturally, think of something to say.

When Abel raised his eyes Cain met them with a glare that dared him to speak. Abel just watched him, face neutral.

Cain snarled and opened his mouth, “Look—“

“You don’t have to say anything.” Abel cut him off, “You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Cain blinked. Cain tried to keep his face set in its mask, hiding his relief with cold eyes.

“Let’s just go to bed,” Abel’s voice wasn’t pitying, it wasn’t mocking, it wasn’t even recoiling from Cain’s tough act. Abel lifted the cover, inviting Cain in.

Cain accepted silently. His nerves had already been through enough. There was no fight left in him. He knew he had shown too much but he couldn't change that now.

Cain laid down, facing away from Abel. As the cover settled over him he felt Abel’s warmth press  up against his back. Abel laid an arm over Cain’s side and pulled him in. He stretched his legs forward so they rested against the back of Cain’s.

Pride told Cain to push him away. But Cain was exhausted and shaken and the touch was comforting in a way he hadn't felt in years. He let Abel settle in. Silence fell.

 

He lay awake, staring into the dark, long after Abel’s breathing slowed behind him. He gently pushed his back into Abel and felt his resting heartbeat through his skin. Cain lay perfectly still, feeling each pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to finish this so quickly, but I started writing and it was so intense that I couldn't stop. Feelings are hard sometimes.
> 
> Don't worry! More fluffy dreams coming up. :)


	5. Exposed but Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the way he touched him. Ran his hands over his flight suit when they met in the storage room. When he pressed him against the wall of the elevator. His touch was impatient but not rushed. He never rushed. It was insistent, not gentle but not harsh. Firm and sure. So confident it was almost threatening.
> 
> (Cameo: Encke)

Abel’s head feels thick and swollen, his thoughts sharp and full of static. His eyes squint under the strain, exhausted. His brow is knit and his skin clammy. It’s been a long time since he’s slept. Abel knows he needs sleep and, even though he works late, rarely deviates from his schedule. His body just can’t put it off. If he doesn’t yield it just starts to shut down until he falls asleep slouched against something. 

His neck aches like he’s been carrying a boulder. His back is stiff and no position is comfortable. His body is crying for relief and Abel can think of nothing else but laying down and closing his eyes.

The lift doors open and he forces himself to move. Pushing through his delirium, he’s focused on getting to bed as fast as possible. Dull echoes of each footstep ring out, irritating his ears, irritating his mind.

Abel reaches his door and keys in the code. It slides open to reveal a dim, grey cave. Abel steps forward while swinging his hand back against the inside panel to close the door.

Two steps and he’s reached the bed. The bunks are perfectly tidy for inspections and he can’t bring himself to drag the mattress to the floor. Who knows if Cain is even coming back tonight.

Abel half-falls, half-rolls onto the bottom bunk. His breathing and pulse are quickened, just from the strain of getting there. He closes his eyes and his brain is already shutting down. He doesn’t notice his clothes twisted uncomfortably under his back, or the way his boots hang off the edge, or how his collar presses into the soft skin of his throat.

He just feels that uneasy lurching, spinning, floating of wavering on the edge of sleep. His mind is just blackness. His breathing slows.

In the stillness, his mind recovers. It starts replaying this horrible day, wandering from moment to moment. Like he’s looking for something.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah stupid fucker, can’t keep his mouth shut.” It’s distant, down the hall, but getting closer.

“I heard he made him jump. Like he was gonna tackle him.” More laughter.

“Well he didn’t get away with shit. 20 cases in the stacks.”

“ _20 cases?_ Shit.”

“It’s better than the brig.”

“Fuck no. I’d take the brig over the stacks any day.” The fighter’s voice sharpened as they turned the corner and trailed off when he saw Abel standing there, obviously eavesdropping.

A tense pause. Abel’s face flushed. He wanted to ask who but he knew the fighters wouldn’t say. They wouldn’t say anything at all. They wouldn’t even meet his eyes. The look on their faces was all he needed.

He felt that rush of anger and unease all over again. It flooded through his exhausted body in the darkness, made his aching muscles tense. He saw the corridors again. Heard himself cursing under his breath. Cursing Cain, cursing this stupid political sideshow. This was the last thing they needed. 

He was running through the fighter’s base level, driven by his anger and emboldened by the way black suits turned the other way when they saw him. _Where the fuck is Cain? He can’t be in the stacks already._

 

The longer he searched the more his anxiety ate away his insides. _20 cases? What could Cain have possibly done to earn that? How could he be so reckless?_

But it wasn’t Cain he found down there. It was the Lieutenant. Tall and dark and threatening. Abel felt himself in that hallway again. Stuttering to a stop right in front of the glaring fighter.

Abel heard his voice, edged with anger, making that stupid proposition. Asking Encke to let him split the work with Cain. Abel hated persuading anyone, never mind a superior, but he was good at it. Quick on his feet and good with words, he made an argument that Encke couldn’t refute. They were already short two crews with this political visit, which were off working security for the convoy. They couldn’t afford to have the Reliant out of commission for who-knows-how-long while it’s fighter _greased fucking bolts_ in the stacks.

“I can’t excuse his behavior and I won’t try to justify it,” Abel chose those words carefully, spoke evenly. Still had no idea what Cain had done and he was already sweeping up the pieces, “but we’re a team and I’m useless without him. Let me take half the cases.”

Encke had snorted at that, his eyes drifting up and away from Abel’s face. Clearly thinking something he wouldn’t say. Abel replayed that moment, wondering what Encke thought of him, wondering if he thought less of him for this. For begging like this. He felt that moment again. the bitterness settling in his mouth, irritation creasing his brow.

But he had no choice. He had to try. It was the right thing to do. It was best for the fleet. Wounded pride was worth that, wasn’t it?

 

But it was more than that. It was his neck on the line. He knew by the way Encke leaned in, much too close with his hardened eyes. The way he agreed to Abel’s plan with a threat. The way he spat Cain’s name. _I would have never gotten myself into a mess like this._

Abel’s anger simmered, just enough to keep him awake. His irritation was growing and his mind wandering on its own. He was too far gone to realize that his own memories were riling him up. His mind spinning a horrible dream before he had even reached sleep.

He remembered reaching the stacks. Encke’s harsh words still sharp in his ears. He had only been there a few times, and never too far inside. They were deep in the belly of the ship, home to the billions and billions of parts they needed to repair everything. Everything was sorted into huge cases and stacked six stories high. Robots roamed the aisles, retrieving parts and bringing them to the drop off point. 

Abel felt himself standing there again, the whirr of mechanized arms echoing in that huge, cavernous space. He was near some mechanics waiting impatiently for their orders. He looked around for anyone that might tell him where to find Cain, so he could figure out what the hell had happened and what exactly he had signed himself up for.

Several wrong turns later he saw a sign for the command room. He remembered the muffled sounds of an argument, then a thud and a clatter. His stomach lurched again as he broke into a run. At least he had found Cain.

He remembered running in, shouting for Cain to stop. Seeing him turn around instantly. Confused and startled. Seeing the stacks operator, disheveled and crumpled on the table, fear in his eyes.

 

He remembered the argument but tried not to relive it. The way Cain wouldn’t tell him what had happened until Abel yelled, voice spiking with frustration that he was there to split the cases. So he had better tell him what the _fuck_ they were doing here. What was so _fucking_ important that he made a visiting Senator jump out of his skin. That he earned a punishment only given to soldiers who didn’t know who the real enemy was.

Cain offered no answers, just spat back with anger of his own. That he hadn’t done anything to deserve this. That Encke just wanted to lock him away because he didn’t want colony scum wandering the halls with some Earth pansy parading around.

Abel was silent then. It didn’t seem impossible. He thought about the way Encke had been in the hall, that smirk. Maybe Cain was telling the truth. _Did Encke let me take half of Cain’s punishment because I was too naive to see what was really going on?_

Abel felt Cain’s eyes on him again. That brief silence as they stood, tense on either side of the room. The operator eyeing them both warily. It didn’t matter now. _Goddamn it Cain._ They were just wasting time.

 

* * *

 

Abel turned over in the bed, his boots knocking noisily against the wall. His movements were sluggish and his head throbbed. He might have been asleep but it didn’t feel like resting.

His mind couldn’t break the rhythm that had held him captive for hours. Pick up, grease, toss. Pick up, grease, toss.

 

The operator had walked them over to a disused aisle where 21 cases sat in a long row. The case closest to them was empty. They were expected to pull bolts one by one from the full case, grease them, and toss them into the empty one. When they emptied one case they moved on to the next one, tossing bolts into the case they had just emptied, and so on. It was horrible, grueling, mechanical work. It made men into machines. It was designed to break you.

Greasing machines could complete a case in about half an hour. A skilled mechanic could complete a case in twice that time. An exhausted soldier took at least two hours. They were going to be here for a very long time.

The first thing Cain had done, once the operator was out-of-sight, was grab a fist of ungreased bolts and drop them into the empty case.

“Cain!”

“They don’t give a shit.”

“These bolts could go into our ship.”

“Bullshit. They feed ‘em all to the machine.”

“The greasing machine?”

Cain stiffened and took a step closer, “Yeah the fucking greasing machine.” His lip curled into a snarl, eyes hardening. “Why is this so hard to understand. It’s not about the bolts. It’s about locking me up.” His voice was harsh, trying to hide emotion with sharp words. “They can’t put me in the brig without filing a report, and I haven’t done anything wrong. But they think they can throw me down here like some _goddamn dog_.” Cain was close now, snarling in Abel’s face. He spun and kicked the metal case in frustration. The impact echoed in the silence.

“Why you? You’re not the only colonist on this ship.” Abel’s voice was quieter than he had intended.

“Because I’m the best and they’re fucking ashamed.” Cain spat, “I’m better than every single one of them,” He turned again, his eyes narrowed with disgust, “but they won’t put a fucking _tsygan_ in front of that white pig.”

“The senator…”

“Yes the fucking senator.” Cain yelled, patience gone, “Why is everything so fucking hard to understand!”

Abel replayed the argument, uneasy with Cain’s words. He knew there were racial tensions among the fighters but never imagined they would lead to…

 

* * *

 

Abel sat up with a jerk. His head throbbed with pain and frustration. _Why am I doing this, reliving the whole nightmare? I am so beyond tired. Go the fuck to sleep._ He sat still and closed his eyes. Immediately his body began to slump, fleeing toward sleep. Abel fell back onto his pillow.

There was a moment of silence. Abel’s limbs relaxed into the mattress. _Finally. I must be the last person awake on this whole ship._

 

_Cain’s probably asleep by now too._

 

Abel’s mind dropped off into wordless thoughts of Cain. His face. His hair. His hands. There was something about the way he moved. It was so efficient, so exact. He tried to hide that when he wanted to look tough by throwing his arms around, shoving people, banging things together carelessly. But he was a careful person. 

He didn’t make mistakes and he knew it. He moved with a confidence that was almost threatening. He was so unlike everyone else, and that was part of the attraction. 

It was the way he talked, his subtle accent clipping his vowels. It was stronger when he was tired or angry or whispering in Abel’s ear, breathing heavy.

It was the way he walked. Shoulders back, eyes scanning. Feet connecting softly with the floor. Assertive and silent. 

It was the way he sat on the bed, against the wall. Leaning back, the illusion of relaxing when he was always on alert. His shirt rumpled on his chest, creasing at the bend in his waist. The way his thighs looked, resting on the bed. Effortless.

It was the way he touched him. Ran his hands over his flight suit when they met in the storage room. When he pressed him against the wall of the elevator. His touch was impatient but not rushed. He never rushed. It was insistent, not gentle but not harsh. Firm and sure. So confident it was almost threatening.

It was the way he looked at him. A wisp of heat swirled in Abel’s chest just thinking about it. His black eyes, hooded by his lowered brow. Steady and dark. Possessive and hungry at the same time. Like he owned Abel and yet couldn’t really. 

And full of desire. The more time Abel spent with him the more he saw it. Cain wanted so much. Wanted it all, deeply. Cain must have known it made him vulnerable because he did his best to hide it, to take before he had to ask, to fight so he never had to lose.

 

Abel thought about Cain often when he was falling asleep. He did his best to push those thoughts away when there was work to be done. He still didn’t know what he thought of it, of _them_. Whatever they were together. But all of this was new, he had never had anything like this, with anyone. And his body wanted more and more. So in the stillness before sleep, his mind rested on it. Turned over his attraction like a puzzle. Pulled at his heartstrings with vivid memories. Made him wish the bed wasn’t so cold when he slept alone.

 

* * *

 

Abel forced his eyes open. _This isn’t sleep. What the hell is going on._

For all his exhaustion, his mind couldn’t rest. Abel swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His spent muscles now numb, his body felt too light. He rested his head in his hands and rubbed his tired eyes. There was no reasoning himself to sleep. So he just waited.

His memory returned to the stacks. Continuing his re-enactment of the day like some inescapable movie. His back spasmed with pain as he felt himself sitting on that metal stool again, across the case from Cain. Wordlessly greasing bolts and dropping them with a metal thud that grated on the ear.

They said nothing for hours. When they talked it was about nothing. Prepping the ship. Upgrading the engine. That corridor on the main level that’s closed for repairs. 

All of Cain’s anger had drained away. Abel wondered what he thought about in the silence. He stole moments between bolts to study his face. They had never been in the same place for this long, at least seven hours now. It had to be very late but neither of them had stopped to check the time. He wondered how Cain was when he was hungry. Or tired.

Abel was studying his dark eyelashes, the sensitive skin under his eyes, the dark curl of his eyebrow, when Cain looked up. He met Abel’s eyes with a smirk. Abel blushed and turned away. Cain paused for a second, then continued greasing.

Abel kept his eyes down until the color had drained from his cheeks. When he casually glanced up as he grabbed a new bolt, Cain was watching him. 

It was the way he looked at him. His black eyes. Steady and dark. Possessive and hungry. That desire. The flush flooded him again and his ears were hot. He felt Cain’s eyes on him, crawling over his body, watching his reaction. He was exhausted but alert. Adrenaline eased into his blood stream and his heart beat a bit faster. Cain’s attention was all it took.

Abel took a deep breath and closed his eyes. _Not now. Not here._ Everything was still. Just long enough. The room blurred and swam. He greased the same bolt three times. Everything was murky. Then it was gone. No stacks. No Cain. No bolts. Just inky black sleep.

 

* * *

 

It’s freezing cold. The frigid air drafts up from the floor, chilling exposed skin. Abel blinked. Still on his stool. Bolt in hand. He raised his head. It all looked a little different. The lighting was stark. The stacks loomed over them, their peaks ascending into the dark. _What time is it?_

Abel’s gaze fell on Cain. Their eyes met and Abel didn’t flinch. It’s dead quiet. _Are the robots still running?_

They watched each other for a moment. Cain moved first, tossing a bolt into the half-full case without leaving Abel’s eyes. The edges of his mouth turned up into a small, satisfied smile.

Cain set down the grease, let the dirty rag on his knee fall to the ground as he stood up. Abel expected him to come closer and looked up to meet him. But Cain took his time. He took a slow step forward, sliding sideways to ease between the cases. One hand rested on the case edge as he drew the next boot forward. He made Abel watch. Wait.

Two slow steps and Cain was inches in front of him. Abel’s feet rested on the metal ring that ran around the stool’s legs, his knees splayed to either side. Cain paused again and took a half-step closer, just close enough that he was barely between Abel’s knees. Heat shot up Abel’s thighs and his stomach tightened. His leg muscles tensed and he watched Cain silently, wondering what he would do.

Cain just waited. Watching him. The heat in Abel’s body surged and intensified. A thrill arced across his shoulders. His skin felt on edge; it ached to be touched. It all happened so quickly and he knew Cain knew. He knew Cain saw the flush of his ears, the change in his eyes, the shift in his posture. Abel tried to hide his vulnerabilities too, but he wasn’t as good at it.

 

There was an agony in the closeness. One he felt all the time. In the elevator, at debriefs, in the cafeteria, during simulations. When they were close but not alone. _And he knows._ Because he just gets close enough. _For me to feel his heat, smell his hair._ He just gets close enough to make Abel flush. He would think it was all about power, just reminding him who was in charge, if the want in Cain’s eyes wasn’t so deep and dark.

 

Cain finally moved again, making Abel jolt. He reached up toward Abel’s chin. Grabbed the zipper on him jacket and tugged it down. The cold air rushed in, swirling into the warmth of his chest. Abel’s heart was in his throat. Cain pushed his jacket off his shoulders and reached down for the hem of Abel’s shirt.

Abel was torn between wanting him to go faster, to rip his clothes away, and wanting him to leave them because it was so cold. Neither of them said anything. Neither one questioned what was happening. Neither one mentioned the hourly guard that checked on them, the possibility of getting caught.

Cain tugged the shirt up and over his head, tousling Abel’s hair, which fell loose around his ears as Cain pulled the shirt free. Abel raised his chin to meet Cain’s eyes again when Cain swiftly closed the distance between them. His hands closed on either side of Abel’s exposed ribs and lifted him up and off his stool. Cain carried him effortlessly for two quick steps before they collided with the cold metal stacks. Abel gasped and shrank, the metal case like ice on his back. Cain pushed himself into Abel, his warmth heavy on Abel’s chest

Abel’s eyes flashed and he pushed back. The cold shock stung on his skin. His exhaustion flooded in again. _Too cold. Too tired._ He anchored his hips against the case and shoved Cain with his shoulders.

Cain just smirked, eyes easy, and moved his hands to Abel’s biceps, pushing them against the case. He leaned close, his lips grazing Abel’s ear as he whispered, “shhh”

Abel’s stomach upended itself. His chest squeezed the air from his lungs. The rush made his neck release, head drop back against the case. He watched Cain with lidded eyes, ready for him. Waiting. Cain’s voice was all it took.

 

It was almost always Abel who broke first, who asked for it. Cain loved all of it. The teasing, the wait, the foreplay, the sex, the release. He just swam through it, stretched into it. He was never in a rush. But Abel was consumed by it. It swallowed him up and drove him. Almost frantic. He was always pushing Cain for more, faster.

 

Cain was like a cat playing with its prey. He only let him go to relive the moment of capture again and again.

Cain was such a mystery. He seemed to be motivated only by his own pleasure, but he was always so focused on Abel. Watching him, trying new things, cataloging his reaction to each touch with an attention Abel had seen him give little else. It felt like he was trying to crack a code, trying to break him open, to map every sensitive spot.

Cain leaned closer, breathing hot over Abel’s lips. He rested his forehead against Abel’s and moved one leg between Abel’s thighs. Not pushing up, not kneading into him with the pressure that Abel ached for. Not yet. Just close enough. Just touching.

The tension between them sent a nervous shiver down Abel’s back, he pulled away from the case, trying to meet Cain’s lips. But Cain moved back with him, their foreheads still pressed together, noses barely touching. Abel strained against the hands on his arms. Asking for it. Almost begging. Cain wouldn’t give in. He had Abel right where he wanted him.

Cain lifted his head a few inches away to focus on Abel’s eyes. Abel was already feeling loose and tingling from Cain’s pressure on his chest. But his back burned from the freezing metal case and his eyes were strained from hours of monotony. He was bone tired and still frustrated by their earlier conversation. He always melted under Cain’s touch but this time his body and mind were spent and he was in no mood for games. Abel’s frustration spiked through his chest, a hot shard, and he tossed his head to one side, shrinking away from Cain. _We don’t have time for this._

He felt a soft rush of air, Cain’s soundless chuckle on his neck. He knew Abel didn’t want to stop, he just wanted it. More, faster. Cain knew him better than he knew himself. Or at least he could think straight in moments like these.

Suddenly, Cain pushed away. Cold air rushed in to replace his body’s warmth. Abel reflexively pushed away from the icy case, the skin on his back angry and red. His arms buzzing where Cain had held him down. 

 

Cain’s back is to him and he’s crouching down to pick something up a few feet away. Seeing him suddenly at a distance is strange and mesmerizing. The way his body bends, muscles in his back flexing across his ribs. The way the light rests on his neck and shoulders when he bows his head. Abel had never been good at hiding things from Cain. He just shivered and stared, waiting for his warmth again.

 

Cain turned back, tucking something into his pocket. He grabbed Abel’s wrist and pulled him in. Abel tripped obediently over to him, looking down to coach his legs to work. Before he had steadied himself, Cain hooked an arm under Abel’s knees and pulled them out from under him. Abel flailed but Cain caught him easily, his other arm supporting Abel’s back.

Even after all this, the hours hunched over bolts, Cain wasn’t tired. He moved with as easy strength and purpose. Abel relaxed into his arms as he was carried. He rocked against Cain’s chest when he lifted Abel higher, then recoiled and hissed when Cain dropped him on top of a closed metal case. His head clunked dully against the edge and a sickening pain throbbed. He pushed up onto his elbows to get off, sick of it, sick of the games. But Cain leapt nimbly up on top of the case and pushed him flat again.

Cain crouched over him, hands holding Abel’s shoulders down and one knee pinning his hips. He was grinning and his eyes flashed mischievously. 

Abel bucked his hips and glared, “Get off. It’s fucking cold.” Cain laughed again, fuller this time. He released his hands, pinning Abel down with just his knee. His shin pressed hard on Abel’s cock and that wonderful pressure stirred the warmth in his belly. But Abel ignored it, trying to wriggle free and be done with this. Cain shucked his own jacket and turned back to Abel. He slid a hand under Abel’s shoulders and lifted him up, wordlessly. He used his other hand to deftly spread his jacket under Abel’s bare back and laid him back down, almost tender.

 

The gesture surprised Abel; his frustration quieted, his brow relaxed. He hadn’t given in but he wasn’t fighting. He watched Cain pull a can from his pocket. _The bolt grease?_ He produced a knife from his boot and stabbed a hole in the side. He tilted the can and unceremoniously poured the pale liquid onto Abel’s chest. Abel gasped, confused, and there was laughter in Cain’s eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Cain threw the can to the floor and pushed both hands through the oil. It was thick and the friction of Cain’s hands on his chest gave it a subtle warmth. Cain studied him, eyes dark, watching his hands rub the oil over Abel’s milky skin, gliding over his ribs, pushing a thumb along the inside of his hip bones, tracing his collarbone, drifting slick fingertips up his neck, behind his ear, into his hair. The sensation flooded him, blanking his mind, overwhelming his nerves. Abel was shaking under his touch, it was so much, everywhere at once. It was more than touch, it felt like Cain had pulled him inside out, his skin offering no defense. The oil dripped down his sides and soaking into the canvas of Cain’s jacket.

The buzz on his skin seeped into his blood, rushed through his body. The heat in his groin bloomed into a consuming desire. Cain pushed his knee down against Abel’s hips and his inner turmoil escaped in a muffled moan. His cock twitched and stiffened under the pressure. Cain ran his thumbs over Abel’s nipples, drawing out another breathy moan. He pushed his face into Abel’s neck, kissing a soft line over slick skin. 

Abel gasped and arched away from the case. It was too much, everywhere all at once. His touch, his lips, his pressure, his heat. Abel groaned and his shaking intensified. The cold and the exhaustion pushed him over the edge and his teeth were chattering, his body convulsing in shaky waves.

“Cain, please” he groaned into Cain’s raven hair.

 

Cain pulled away, one greased hand already on his belt. He tugged his pants down to his ankles and stepped over Abel’s torso. He knelt and slid his cock, already hard, over Abel’s slick stomach. Cain dropped forward, his hands next to Abel’s head and dragged himself along Abel’s body. The oil slicked his cock and made his thighs glisten in the harsh light. Abel’s breathing was unsteady and Cain released a low, content growl.

He pushed back, stepping between Abel’s legs to kneel in front of him, roughly tugging his pants free of his legs. Cain was impatient now and it made Abel’s head spin. He dragged a hot hand over Abel’s stomach to gather some of the oil still pooled there and slicked Abel’s sensitive skin. Abel, already so far gone, gasped at the touch and pushed into his fingers.

Cain grabbed Abel’s ankle with his free hand and pushed it up, toward his head. His other leg followed, tangled in his pants, so that he was folded in half, hips rotated up toward Cain. Abel blinked his eyes open, searching for Cain’s face, because the hand on his ankle was quivering.

Abel pushed the cloth tangle aside and found Cain’s face. His head was down, watching his cock brush against Abel’s, pushing the tip of his thumb just inside Abel, trailing his fingers over every tender crease. He looked up, meeting Abel’s eyes. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes soft. They were hot with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide. 

Abel watched his face as he felt Cain’s finger slide inside. A soft exhale on his lips, his eyes glossing over. Cain slipped in and out, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure through Abel’s body. Abel kept his eyes open for as long as he could. He couldn’t get enough of Cain like this. 

 

He was intensely attractive when he stalked around the ship, confident and threatening, but like this, when he was so tender and exposed, it was more than Abel could take. It was more than lust, wanting to take someone to their breaking point just to be there when they crumble.

 

But Abel couldn’t think straight anymore. He was shaking uncontrollably and Cain’s hand was tight and trembling on his ankle. Cain had three fingers inside now, each thrust bringing soft cries from Abel’s lips. Cain pulled away and Abel barely had time for a shuddering breath before Cain pushed his cock inside.

It was sudden and overwhelming. Abel cried out with pain and pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut. Cain pushed into him hard, drawing almost all the way out after each stroke. They were a mess of grease and clothes and heat. 

“Fuck,” Cain moaned, his voice unsteady, “Abel” his words were swallowed up with heavy breaths as he thrusted faster. Abel felt himself swelling with pleasure, his body rocking against the case, his thighs sliding over his oiled stomach.

Cain reached down and grasped Abel’s cock roughly. The first stroke made Abel jump, every nerve in his aching cock on fire. Cain’s fingers still radiated heat from being inside him. Abel was already cresting and the sudden sensation pushed him over the edge.

He cried out as his orgasm flooded him, muscles unfurling and spasming all at once. He constricted around Cain who pushed into the tightness, thrusting to the hilt, coming before Abel had stopped shaking. Cain braced himself against the case, his chest heaving with each breath. He pulled out slowly, eyes down. 

 

The softest sound escaped his lips as the head of his cock slipped out. He hadn’t pulled himself back together yet, hadn’t set his mouth in its sneer, but he wasn’t afraid. He met Abel’s eyes wordlessly, his face so soft, almost gentle.

 

Cain broke the moment by sliding off the case, his boots hitting the floor with a soft thud. He pulled his clothes straight, buckling his belt as he walked around the case and leaned over Abel’s head. Abel couldn’t move and didn’t want to. He waited for Cain and let the cold air wash over his skin.

Cain bent down, blocking out the overhead light as he kissed Abel’s forehead softly. Abel’s heart knocked against his ribs. 

“Go to sleep,” Cain murmured, “You look like shit.” Abel’s lungs tried to laugh but his body shook instead. They had so many cases still to do, he was laying there with no clothes on but the pants around his boots. This was so ridiculous. _What are we doing?_

The absurdity of it forced the laugh from him, easy but thick. Syrupy like his insides. He looked up at Cain with a crooked smile when he returned with Abel’s shirt and jacket. Cain tugged Abel’s pants up and covered the rest of his skin with the discarded clothing.

Abel sunk into the warmth. Immediately, the dizzy lightness of sleep began to swim behind his eyes. Maybe Cain was right. Maybe they were just down here for some racist bullshit reason. But what did it matter if they were together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Sorry for the wait. Work swallowed me whole and spat me out again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!


	6. Already Over the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was perfectly, blissfully hot. He hadn’t felt this warm in a long time. Cain stepped into it, letting the water land hot on his chest, drawing the blood to the surface. He breathed in the steam, closed his eyes, brought his hands to his face. Hot, wet fingertips over his skin. A slow exhale.

Two bodies, flushed and panting, on wrinkled sheets. The muffled sounds of intimacy echoed and quieted against the thick metal walls.

There wasn’t much warmth on this ship. This was war after all. There was camaraderie of course, but intimacy was scarce. Soldiers had ways of asking for it, demanding it, from each other, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t have the heat of two people who were drawn together, it didn’t echo into the rest of their day, fill their idle thoughts. It didn’t give quiet storage room kisses that desperate edge, hands pulling at each other’s clothes. It wasn’t anything like the heat in this room, the wordless looks, the dark eyes, the hunger, the pressure, the release.

Cain knew it, too. He knew it the way you know you’ll die some day. The thought lurked, inevitable and definite, in everything he did. It colored his thoughts. He knew that this was different and every day they stepped a bit closer to the end.

The conflict had deepened and intensified over time. He thought about pulling away, turning his back, but he couldn’t. Knowing it was fleeting made it all burn brighter. The way Abel stole glances across the mess hall. The way his breath quickened when Cain brushed against him. The way his desire flushed across his face with Cain’s touch. It was too good to turn away from, even if it had to end.

 

But Cain was too spent now to think about any of that. He just breathed in the wonderful, peaceful quiet and laid back on the bed. He felt full and loose. The pleasure in his veins pushed the dread back until it was just scenery. Nothing to worry about.

He rolled his head to the side to watch Abel. His pale hair tangled on the pillow, his chest still heaving. His eyes were closed and his mouth parted. Cain thought most people from Earth looked stiff and unnatural, but he was so beautiful. His dark eyes set off his pale features. They showed so much of what he felt, like Abel didn’t care who knew.

Cain rolled off the mattress, stood, and padded toward the shower. He hit the control panel to turn on the bathroom lights and recoiled in pain. His hand throbbed, two knuckles swollen and bloody from an earlier fight, covered with a poorly wrapped bandage. He was trying to rest it and hide it from Abel, waiting for the swelling to go down and hoping he didn’t have to go to medical. His punch had connected with that guy’s teeth, might be dislocated or worse. Cain had splinted his own bones before, but not here, not while deployed. 

Cain cursed under his breath and wrapped his other hand protectively over the injury. He elbowed the panel to shut the door. With Abel out of sight he unwrapped the bandage and carefully flexed his fingers. They had only felt stiff and achy before, but lit up with sharp pain now. _Fuck_. _We better not get called out tonight._

Cain knew it was stupid. He didn’t fight to get hurt. He exhaled heavily, breathing out the irritation in his chest. _Stupid fucker, why would you open your mouth?_

 

Cain turned on the shower with his good hand and stepped into the stream, not bothering to close the glass door. The water that rained down was so cold it felt like sleet. He held up his swollen hand to clean the wound. But even the gentle pressure of the water was too much. He quickly pulled away, hand throbbing from the stimulation, hot and swollen even in the freezing water.

Cain stepped out again, toward the bedroom door, and pressed the panel with his good hand.

“Abel, get in here,” he barked. His words were sharpened with an annoyance he didn’t really feel. Abel had sat up at the sound of the door opening and gave Cain a puzzled look from the floor.

Cain retreated into the bathroom, his back to the door. He heard Abel stand, come to the door, and take a tentative step inside.

“I need you to wash my hair.” Cain said. He kept his back to Abel, not sure what his reaction would be, not sure what his own face might show.

But Abel said nothing and the silence stretched out, filled only by the hiss of the shower. Finally, Cain glared over his shoulder. Abel’s face was full of questions but open, maybe surprised.

Abel’s face asked why but his mouth said, “okay” and he stepped closer. He stuck a hand under the shower’s flow and flinched. He gave Cain a confused look and turned up the temperature.

“Do you not have hot water in the colonies?” Abel meant it as a joke, he could tell by the curve in his lips and lift in his brow, but it hit a little to close to the truth.

“No,” Cain spat back. But it wasn’t really true. They had hot water, just never enough. Fuel cost too much and water was too precious. They kept the water cold so you got out faster. A long, hot shower was an expensive luxury. The first thing Cain had done when he shipped out with the fleet was take a shower. He had turned the heat all the way up so it was scalding and let it run hot rivulets through his hair, down his back, over his legs. He hadn’t taken a hot shower since.

 

Abel had turned his attention back to the shower. He fiddled with the controls making it slightly warmer, slightly cooler. Finally, he looked up at Cain, an invitation.

Cain pushed past him, through the shower’s narrow doorway, into the warm steam already rising from the floor. The hot water lapped at his toes, melting away the cold. The warmth washed through him like there was nothing between his skin and bones. He stepped forward, letting the water run over his knees. It was perfectly, blissfully hot. He hadn’t felt this warm in a long time. Cain stepped into it, letting the water land hot on his chest, drawing the blood to the surface. He breathed in the steam, closed his eyes, brought his hands to his face. Hot, wet fingertips over his skin. A slow exhale.

He turned to see Abel watching him. Naked with quiet eyes, standing right where the swirls of steam met the chilled air of the bathroom. He could see the goosebumps on Abel’s skin, the hair on his arms standing on end. Cain closed his eyes and tipped his head back into the spray.

His mind emptied out, the water flowing over the crown of his head, waking up every sleeping nerve, washing all his thoughts away. When he opened his eyes, Abel was gone. He ran his good hand through his hair, coaxing the water down to the roots.

Cain had completely forgotten why he was in the shower by the time Abel returned, bottle in hand.  He stepped into the shower and slid the door closed behind him. Abel tipped the bottle and some amber-yellow syrup slid out. It looked like soap but much thicker. He set the bottle on the tile floor and stepped toward Cain.

Abel reached up, slid one hand behind his head and gently pulled it down, so Cain’s chin rested on his chest. Cain braced his swollen hand against the shower wall, above his head, to keep the wound clean. If Abel saw it, he said nothing. Abel poured the syrup into Cain’s hair and ran both hands through it, front to back, before massaging it into a lather.

It smelled wonderful. Clean and crisp, the way new plants smelled when they really began to grow. It was a lot of luxury all at once, the hot water, this Earth soap, Abel’s hands massaging his head. Cain felt that uneasy quiver in his stomach that told him to pull back. But it was so quiet now, not the usual voice screaming in his ear, just a whisper of concern. Too easy to ignore.

 

Cain realized he’d smelled this soap on Abel before. He watched big, lathery drips fall from his hair to the floor and swirl into the drain. Abel’s fingertips, so thin and strong, drew arcs over his scalp. He dipped his hands around Cain’s ears, grazed the short hairs at the base of his neck, traced his hairline, ran a firm stroke over his temples with his thumbs. 

It felt so breathtakingly good. His skin tingling, a shiver up his spine. His chest felt light and his head was buzzing. The release was just as good as sex but so much calmer, without the hunger, without the wanting. Just waves of pleasure.

Abel lightly grasped his head and tipped it back into the water. The warmth washed over his cooled skin again. Abel came closer, their chests touching now, so he could reach Cain’s hair. His arms brush against Cain’s shoulders as he works, kneading it out just like he kneaded it in.

When the soap was gone, Abel stepped back, tugging Cain with him, one hand around his neck. He reached up and squeezed the water from Cain’s hair, pushing it back and out of his face.

Cain heard a towel being tugged from its hook and felt its soft scratch on his skin. He just stood there, all hot skin and loose limbs, and let Abel dry him. Cain bathed quickly, cold water, a few rough scrubs, wrap around a towel and drip dry. So even the shitty, synthetic, standard-issue towel felt like luxury as it passed over his skin. Abel was so goddamn careful. He pressed Cain’s hair against his head, squeezing the water out, one hand diligently steadying his neck. He ran the towel down Cain’s arms, drew soft circles over his chest and back, wicked water from his legs in long swipes. He even pressed the towel to the tops of his feet, soaking up the water between his toes.

 

Abel paused to hang up the towel and the spell was broken. It had been so intimate they weren’t sure how to end it. Abel hesitated, hand on the towel, back to Cain. So he swooped in, pressing a soft kiss beneath Abel’s ear. It’s fucking gentle and Cain questioned the gesture as soon as his lips left Abel’s skin. His body feels loose but his heart is tight.

 

_You’re forgetting where you are. Don’t fuck around when death is at the door._

 

Cain pads into the bedroom and rolls onto the rumpled sheets. He’s so warm and loose. The smell of Abel’s soap settles around him. He pushes his face into the pillow to block out the light and he’s already swimming in the first waves of sleep.

 

* * *

 

First comes the breeze. It whispers past, just chilling the skin. It’s so subtle it barely rustles through Cain’s hair, but it makes him jump and steel himself against it. The breeze feels threatening because… _why?_ Because it’s dangerous here.

Cain opens his eyes and sees the edge. They’re at the lip of some canyon, like the ones back home. He can tell it’s deep by the way it all fades to nothing, like the world cracked apart and let the blackness of space fill the void.

Cain’s not afraid of heights, or depths, but he knows death when he sees it. They’re way too fucking close to the edge. Like even a whisper of a breeze could push them in.

He strains away from it, willing himself to run. His body comes into focus, he’s standing _right_ at the edge. _Fuck_. Feet planted like there’s nothing to worry about, the toe of one boot jutting out into the nothingness.

And Abel is there, right beside him. Cain looks up and sees the deepest terror in Abel’s face. It’s everything he’s dreamed about. The anger, the fear, the betrayal. And the denial, obvious in the dark of his eyes, like he’ll never really believe it.

Cain sees them, and then really sees them. Like a still image that grinds into motion. He’s gripping Abel’s collar with tight fists, pulling him up. Cain’s face is numb and cold. And Cain’s own lips are saying something but he doesn’t understand. He just sees the look on Abel’s face and he’s paralyzed, inside his own head, inside his own body.

Everything accelerates and they’re fighting. Abel is struggling and pulling at his arms, straining just like Cain is inside this nightmare. Suddenly, with a sickening confidence, Cain’s body spins Abel to the edge, pushing him by his jacket. Abel’s feet slip against the rock and he gasps, mouth open in horror.

And all Cain can do was watch it unfold. A swelling urgency fills his chest but there is nothing to be done. Abel’s fighting hard and Cain’s willing himself to hold on, to pull him in, to throw him to safety. _Shit!_

Cain’s panic spikes when Abel’s foot slips off the edge and, for a second, his full weight pulls against Cain’s grip. Abel finds his footing again, barely hanging on, unable to steady himself. He would fall if Cain let go. Abel meets his eyes and the action slows to a crawl. Cain’s screaming at himself to wake up. Abel’s eyes are clouded with a hurt that stabs at Cain. _I didn’t want it to be like this._

 

Very slowly, he feels Abel relax. His hands, pulling at Cain so desperately a moment ago, release and drop to his sides. Abel inhales deeply and lets his shoulders drop back. He’s quiet and his face relaxes. He’s just standing there, beyond the edge of death, held up only by Cain’s horrible shell of a self, and he’s done fighting. Abel lifts his chin to meet Cain’s eyes squarely. His mouth set and calm. He lets his arms rise up, fingers open to the breeze. He watches Cain silently, eyes full of something more terrifying than betrayal: trust. A trust beyond doubt.

Abel breathed in and closed his eyes. It was all still again. Cain’s panic flooded and clawed at him.

 

_Abel WAKE UP. There’s nothing I can do!_

 

Cain was shouting and snarling inside his shell of a body. He willed his arms to move, he commanded his legs to bend, he pleaded with himself to wake up.

 

_Goddamn it Abel, I can’t protect you._

 

It was too clear what was coming. They hadn’t come this far to turn back. The abyss was the final step. This was the end.

 

_FUCK_

 

Cain ripped into the dream with a ferocity that could kill a man. He slammed into his shell of a body and it all sparked into vivid, terrifying motion again. Abel silent and still in his arms, the breeze wisping his hair over his forehead. Cain’s heart pounding through his chest, his breathing ragged from the effort.

With a desperate cry he pulled Abel into his chest and threw himself backward. They hit the rock with a thud and cloud of dust. Cain’s ear collided with the ground and a warm trickle of blood started to wind down his neck.

He found Abel still in his arms, his placid eyes meeting Cain’s own wild ones. Cain gasped at him, flooded with relief and regret. What could he say, how could he explain. Was it enough to fall back when you’d been all the way to the edge? Was it enough to save when you had done so much to hurt?

 

_Of course not. Because we’re past the edge now. He’s already let go. I’ve already pushed him._

 

Cain was shaking from the effort. He pulled Abel into his chest reflexively, burying his face in his soft, pale hair. That stupid soap. All he can smell is that stupid fucking soap. The cold hand of grief closed around Cain’s throat.

 

* * *

 

Cain shot up, eyes wide. He panted in the quiet of their room. Hair still damp from the shower. Abel curled up next to him.

 

_Too many fucking nightmares._

 

Cain eased out of bed, threw on his jacket and strode out into the hall.The skin between his eyes twitched with irritation. He gulped the cold hallway air, desperate for reminders of reality.

To the lift, punch the control. Fighter base level.

He walked to the fight simulators with his shoulders hunched, eyes down. Not in the mood to talk to anyone. Not that many fighters are around here at this hour.

He keyed open a simulation room and locked the entry behind him. Only then was he still. The dread sat heavy in his stomach, sweat cooling on his skin.

He didn’t feel like training, not like this. He sat down, hunched on the lowest metal step, his legs bent up against his stomach. He folded his arms over his knees and rested his head on them. Weary.

 

* * *

 

It’s red. Dark, vibrant, blood-colored red in the sky. Glowing like hell itself.

And that fucking breeze was back. But it was gaining steam. Gusting faster and faster until it was howling in his ears, forcing his eyes shut.

Then it all dropped. That nauseating lurch in his stomach, the unmistakable feeling of free falling. For split second, a frozen frame, they’re both there. Falling together, flailing uselessly in the air. As good as dead.

 

* * *

 

Cain jolts awake, adrenaline surging. He jumped up, knocking his head into the hand rail, cursing loudly.

 

_Fuck this._

 

All Cain knew how to do was keep running. It had kept him alive so far. He blew back into the hallway, rubbing the new bruise on his head. The smell of Abel’s soap trailing from his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear Cain will have some nice dreams eventually! I think I'm just influenced by what poor Cain is going through in the comic.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (come chat with me if you're on Tumblr! shiso-romanesco.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely HamletMachine, who has entranced me with her characters.
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr! notoska.tumblr.com


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